Count The Hours
by Honestcannibal
Summary: An AU based on John and Sherlock being around 25-30 years old. Sherlock is in an abusive/unhappy relationship and meets Doctor John Watson when his boyfriend gives him a few injuries, warnings inside. Rated M just to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

**WARINGS:**** _Domestic abuse_****_, attempted suicide, mentions of rape, quite dark on some levels but it gets happier, might be a bit OOC unintentionally, first time writing something like this._**

**That part in ESC when I said it was the only Sherlock fanfiction I was going to write? Yeah I lied. This is literally just an idea, a WIP of sorts. It will be completed, definitely. **

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Alcoholics were what John Watson hated more than the teenage drug addicts. Alcoholics made John want to throw the clipboard in the bin and walk away from his job, especially when they slurred 'I don't need help, you old bastard!' and 'my flat is only a cab ride away'. Maybe it was because he was a grumpy bastard or maybe it was because he had firsthand experience with alcoholism due to his sister being a serious alcoholic and never fully recovering.

He hated his job. Why he worked at an A&E unit, he had no clue. It was good pay for good hours, there were lifts for the days when his leg was playing up and he got free healthcare, mainly because he actually is a doctor so he can diagnose himself.

John looked over at the clock tiredly and sighed, three hours until he finished his shift, then he could go back to his empty flat and go to bed. Not that he got much sleep, nightmares and all.

"John?" Molly smiled, "you've been staring at that paperwork for half an hour. Everything ok?"

John looked down at the two words he'd written on the prescription for a patient. "Uh, yeah, yeah, everything's fine. Just tired, you know late shifts."

Molly smiled again and nodded, "yes, they are a bit annoying aren't they. They all seem to panic over nothing, I mean there are the more serious injuries, don't get me wrong I love helping everyone but sometimes it can be a bit much." She rambled. John just stared at her as she did. Molly was a nice girl, in her 20s, soft eyes, kind face. She was pretty; John didn't understand why she didn't have a partner yet.

"You're staring at me." Molly said uncomfortably as John came back from his thoughts.

"Oh, right, sorry, I was listening." He laughed, embarrassed. "I just got a bit thoughtful, that's all."

Molly smiled, again, and John smiled back. She never did stop smiling. "Well...I better get back to Mrs. Beak." Molly avoided eye contact as she carried on through the office compartments of the A&E unit.

John looked back down at the paperwork and began writing again. He signed his signature and shoved the blasted prescription into an envelope. Damn the alcoholics.

He stood from his desk, heading towards the manager's desk and dropping the envelope onto the desk. Before he could walk away, he heard someone call out to him. "John?"

John rolled his eyes and turned around, "Yes Sarah?"

Sarah was the head of the unit. She was smart, attractive and funny. She wasn't nice. "Fancy grabbing a coffee after work?"

"Uh, thank you, but, uh, sorry I can't. I've got stuff..." John trailed off, talking about some sort of file that needed to be reviewed. It was utter bullshit, but anything needed to be in use to avoid dating Sarah again. It wasn't so much that she was mean to John or even about John, she was just very...not nice about other people.

How not nice? She yelled at a lesbian couple kissing loudly next to him and Sarah at a restaurant. Then she proceeded to shout about how unnatural it all was, in the middle of dinner, with John protesting.

Ever since then, John had been avoiding her. She was clueless about his avoiding and he knew he'd have to answer to her some day, but as he fast walked down the corridor, it could wait until another day.

John went back to his empty office and looked back at the clock. Two and a half hours to go. He practically fell into his chair when there was a knock at the door. "C –" He cleared his throat, "Come in."

A nurse poked her head around the door, "There are three patients out here; everyone else is packed with drunks."

"All right, I'll be out in a second." John mumbled rising from his chair once again. The nurse opened the door fully for him as he walked out towards the waiting room. It was empty for a Saturday night, but John wasn't complaining.

There were three people sitting separately from each other, two men and one woman who looked very peaky. One man was slouched in the white plastic and the other wasn't alone, he was leaning forward in his chair holding his side protectively. There was an older, much taller man sitting next to him, looking around the waiting room impatiently. John frowned; he looked down at his clipboard and read out the name. "Sherlock Holmes?" He called. The man leaning forward looked up and stood, the other one rolled his eyes and yawned, "_Finally."_ He muttered. He stood too, stomping towards John and towering over him, "listen mate, how long is this going to take?"

John looked at his appearance; he was very tall. He had dark eyes with blonde hair, he had an old and stained rugby shirt on and wore faded blue jeans. Although he looked intimidating, he was slightly attractive. His attitude, however, wasn't. The slim person behind him, still holding his side, was tall also. He was pale and had a mop of dark curly hair on his head, he wore a dark purple shirt which was un-tucked from his casual dark jeans and if John was honest, he looked slightly rough. Although he was hunched due to obvious pain in his side, John could see he had a confident stance about him. He interested John. He looked back at the brute standing in front of him.

"Depends on the injury," John glared at him, "mate."

The brute sighed and looked towards the slim male, smacking him on the shoulder roughly, ruffling his dark purple shirt even more than before. "I'll be waitin' in the car, babe."

John saw the flinch when the brute leaned in for a kiss. He saw the rejection and he saw the taller male storm off towards the exit angrily. John watched him go and then looked back at this 'Sherlock Holmes' figure.

"Right then, come in." John smiled opening the door to his office. Sherlock Holmes walked past him without saying a word.

"Two and half hours. Just two and a half hours." John muttered to himself closing the door and turning to the other male who was now sitting down. "Ok, so what seems to be the problem, Mr. Holmes?"

"Two cracked ribs, one broken and maybe a minor concussion." Sherlock said. His voice was deep, slightly hoarse but it flowed so smoothly. John felt jolt in his chest.

"A medical man, are you?" John smiled.

"No." Was all he got as a reply. He raised an eyebrow and regarded Sherlock Holmes; he was very handsome. His vastly coloured eyes seemed to be calculating John, looking him up and down then staring him dead in the eye. John looked away, feeling ridiculously shy.

"All right, so I'll take your word for it. I'll give you some painkillers for your ribs but I'm afraid there's nothing I can do apart from tell you to keep off your feet as much as you can and try not to sleep for tonight. An ice pack would also be useful for your head. Can I see your injuries?" John asked.

There was a moment of silence when Sherlock narrowed his eyes accusingly at John, then after a few moments, he looked at the floor and nodded. It was difficult to determine what Sherlock was feeling but John knew something was very wrong. He led Sherlock over to the examining bed and watched how his face contorted into pain when he sat down.

"Where abouts on your head did you hit?" John asked pulling on a pair of latex gloves.

"Back. Just above my neck." Sherlock murmured. He hissed in pain as John stroked over the swollen spot. John saw blood on his white gloves as he moved the thick curls out of the way, he frowned and realized Sherlock's hair was slightly wet at the back due to the blood and the back of his shirt collar was darkly coloured; bloodied.

"You're going to need stitches, Mr. Holmes." John glanced at Sherlock as he walked back round the bed to get a cotton patch and a bandage. "In the meantime, lay down for me and I'll take a look at your ribs."

Sherlock did as he was told silently. John saw the pain on his face as he laid down and forced his arm to stay by his side.

John lifted his shirt and saw the dark purple bruises over his ribs and frowned again. He ran his fingers gently over the bruises, "how did you get these injuries?" He asked without realizing.

"I fell." Sherlock said almost too quickly.

"You fell?" John asked disbelievingly and Sherlock nodded stiffly. "Must have been quite a fall to crack two ribs and break one."

"You're a doctor not a detective." Sherlock remarked angrily. John rolled his eyes and sighed,

"You're right; it's none of my business." He admitted, moving back so Sherlock could sit up. "Now let me stitch your head up so your brain doesn't fall out."

"That's impossible." Sherlock muttered sitting up slowly.

John was concerned. Sherlock was right; he was a stranger and had no right to ask Sherlock personal questions, but that didn't mean he couldn't be concerned about a patient's home life. John had seen Sherlock's partner - well, he assumed he was his partner – he was a brute. The way Sherlock had pulled away from the kiss, the way he flinched said enough. John could see what was really going on, and it wasn't any of his business, but he felt so helpless.

This Sherlock Holmes was handsome. John wanted to know more about him; he wanted to have a normal conversation with him and get to know him.

"Right, there we go." John stepped back and admired his work on the stitching. He continued to cover and bandage the wound carefully, feeling the soft locks of hair run through his fingers.

"Are you finished yet?" Sherlock asked impatiently. John chuckled,

"Yes, yes I'm finished." He went to pat Sherlock on the back but felt him flinch at the contact. He cleared his throat as the taller man stood up slowly. "Like I said, keep off your feet as much as possible until those ribs heal. I'll give you prescr-"

"Yes, I heard you the first time."

John paused. "Right. Well, good." He walked over to his desk and quickly filled out a prescription, handed it to Sherlock and opened the door for him. But just before Sherlock left, John spoke. "It may not be any of my business, but I'm here if you need anything."

Sherlock looked at him, his pale eyes searching John's own. He looked slightly confused; John assumed it was the concussion and watched him turn back and walk towards the exit.

Something ached in John's chest; something he hadn't felt in years.

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**Little insight on Doctor John Watson. **

**Hope you enjoyed, more to come! ~ Sherlock's P.O.V in the chapter ~**


	2. Chapter 2

**I just downed two cans of Monster energy. I don't even know what is happening right now. Am I going to die?**

**Warnings in this chapter: _Suicidal thoughts, mentions of non-explicit rape and verbal/physical abuse._**

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It was a silent car ride home.

_Home._

Sherlock felt like laughing. Home was where one felt safe and secure, home was where you could do what you wanted without feeling panicked and paranoid, and where Sherlock was going was not _home. _It was more like a prison.

Joel looked at him in the corner of his eye. They hadn't spoken since they got in the car, so Sherlock assumed it was going to be one of _those _nights.

A night where they wouldn't speak about _the incident_ for hours, a night where Sherlock wouldn't be able to sleep knowing the morning to come would be a morning where everything was his fault. It wasn't fair and Sherlock didn't know why he stayed with Joel.

Sherlock had deleted the good memories with him; it hurt too much to remember how he used to be; kind, caring, brilliantly smart and gentle.

Now? Now he was just a horrific shadow of his former self. He wanted to be powerful; he _needed _to be in control all the time. Sherlock hated how much he himself had changed from the...the _abuse._

His stomach churned at the word, but who was he kidding? That's what this was; abuse. First it had started verbal. Nothing wrong there, Sherlock would have just gotten ahead of himself with his work and came home with a cocky attitude; Joel had an excuse to be irritated and say things he didn't mean.

He said he didn't mean the things he said, that's how Sherlock knew.

Then when they had been together fourteen months, it happened. Sherlock didn't want sex, he was too busy with his work – a triple murder with no DNA whatsoever – he hardly did want sex, Joel had gotten so demanding and rough and it was fairly embarrassing how submissive Sherlock was to Joel's needs.

This particular night, Joel began rubbing Sherlock's shoulders while he sat at his desk, leering over the police files. "Not tonight." Sherlock had said, "I'm busy."

"Oh come on." Joel whispered reaching for Sherlock's hand, "come to bed."

"We've had sex four times this week; I don't feel like it."

Joel sighed gently, "I can make you 'feel like it'."

When Sherlock didn't reply, Joel had sighed in frustration and purposely knocked coffee over the police files. Sherlock had jumped up from his seat to avoid the coffee spilling on him and looked over the mess on the desk. He narrowed his eyes at Joel in anger, "you moron!" He yelled, "Do you have any idea how serious this case is? I could-" Then he was shoved to the floor and everything that was on the desk was now crashing into a pile next to him.

Joel had pinned him to the floor and had his way with him.

Sherlock shuddered at the memory; the evil look in Joel's eyes, how desperately Sherlock wanted to wipe the hatred away from his boyfriend's face and apologize for yelling, but how he also wanted to throw Joel off himself and kick him until he stopped moving. How he wanted to just twist his neck until he went limp, telling him how _sick _he was of the name-calling, the violence and late apologies.

How pathetic Sherlock was. He'd lost his job the day after that, Joel said it was for the best and handed him a bouquet of white lilies. Sherlock remembers cutting eat lily head off that night over the bin, his mind screaming at him to get up and leave.

Now look at him, bruised and battered all for the man he once loved. It made him sick.

"I'm sorry, babe." Joel's voice broke, "I'm so, so sorry."

Sherlock's eyes travelled to his boyfriend and saw tears spilling from his eyes that were still focused stiffly on the road. "I know." Sherlock looked back at the road. He hoped they crashed.

"Please forgive me, please. I never meant to hurt you, I just- you know what I get like when you- when you- " Joel trailed off, whimpering pathetically.

Sherlock was quiet for a few moments. He wanted to explode with rage; he wanted to throttle the man next to him that was supposed to love him. "I know." He said again.

"Do you forgive me?"

"It's going to happen again. And again, and again." Sherlock looked over to Joel, "and you're going to apologize every time, promise me it will never happen again and we'll be back to step one."

Joel said nothing but Sherlock could see the tears drying in his eyes, he could sense the anger rising and he knew he was pushing it –_ oh he was_ – but he didn't care. Over the months of abuse, he would just lock himself away in his mind. He couldn't _feel _anything.

"But it will happen again, will it not? One time, you won't be able to stop yourself. You'll hit me too hard, you're going to kill me and you'll be standing in front of my casket, telling me how sorry you are, and you won't be able to be forgiven." Sherlock felt heat rising in his stomach, "I'll be dead and you'll be even sorrier than you are now."

Sherlock waited for Joel to reply but heard nothing. He looked out the passenger window and said no more; he said all he needed to say.

Today had been a very down day for Sherlock, there had been a suicide on the news and it got him thinking. Joel had come home in a bad mood, complaining that his boss had reduced his pay income due to members of his work going on a strike. He said that Sherlock should get a job, to which then Sherlock muttered that he had a perfectly fine job until Joel forced himself on him.

Then the next thing he knew, he was shoved into the wall and had fallen to the floor from the impact, smacking his head on the coffee table. Joel had kicked him various times in the chest, shouting about how useless Sherlock's old job was and how much Joel had helped him become a better person from making him quit.

Oh how Sherlock wanted to correct him. _I didn't quit, I got fired. Because of you._ He knew it wouldn't help, he also knew he couldn't talk from the pain.

Sherlock heard Joel mutter something under his breath before gripping the steering wheel tightly, "you're lucky I don't end it. You're nothing without me, 'Lock."

"Am I not?" Sherlock scoffed, "I believe I was more of a man before you stripped me of everything I've ever believed in; everything I've ever enjoyed."

"Shut your fucking mouth." Joel shouted and Sherlock went silent. He shouldn't have spoken in the first place, he should have just forgiven Joel and not said anything more.

_No. _

No he was right. Joel didn't like it that Sherlock was right, in fact, he _hated _it. He was losing control and that made Sherlock feel much better.

He looked down at the prescription in his hand and read over the doctor's signature.

_Doctor John Watson. _

He was odd. Sherlock hated hospitals, he hated doctors, he hated nurses; he hated everything about hospitals. But John, John grew on him.

Not like mold – _no, no _– more so like a plant. A friendly, gentle plant. Sherlock could see that John was a lonely man. _29 years of age, divorced, lives alone and enjoys his work more for the pay rather than for the patients – proud Doctor. Insomniac possibly. _He was the kindest person Sherlock had met; Sherlock found it hard to admit to himself, but he didn't want to leave Dr. Watson.

He wanted to stay there, where it was safe. He wanted to talk with John, tell him everything, feeling hopeful that he could be helped.

But it was impossible to believe; Sherlock could not be helped.

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**Until next time~**

**ESC: Not So Broken is on it's way .w.**


	3. Chapter 3

John was staring at the clock. Why wouldn't time move any faster? He needed to get out of this office; needed to get home. He was exhausted, his last patient had taken the life out of him, the woman who vomited all over his floor and missed the bin by a bloody centimeter.

John knew as soon as she explained how she was feeling that she had food poisoning. From what? John wasn't listening and he certainly didn't care, his head was all over the place. It was definitely the lack of sleep catching up with him.

"Watching the clock won't make time go quicker." Molly perked up, startling John from his daze.

"Sorry, what?" He tried to make himself look less tired by straightening his posture but failed miserably as his body just slouched in the comfy office chair.

"It's like a watched pot, it will never boil." She smiled then paused, "no, hold on. It's not that it _never _boils, it's just that it doesn't make it boil any faster, you see because, well-"

"I know what you mean, Molly." John chuckled and rose from his seat. Molly smiled again and looked away. A heavy silence drifted through the room apart from the sound of the clock ticking.

John glanced back at the clock. _11:54pm._There wouldn't be any harm in him leaving six minutes early, especially since the waiting room had been empty for almost an hour now. "Uh, well it's the end of my shift." John said picking his coat up off the back of his chair.

"Yes, well- yes." Molly nodded looking slightly awkward and walked towards the office door, "see you tomorrow, John." She grinned, waved and left.

John waved back and shrugged on his coat. That was probably only one of the downsides about Molly; she was very awkward to speak to. She wasn't a very good people person. John smiled at the thought of Molly trying to explain the safety of sex to the primary school students who had visited last year, how he and she had laughed about it in the break room later on.

Molly was great. John couldn't say he fancied her because he didn't; she was just more of a...friend. A very, very close friend.

John didn't have many friends, now that he thought about it. He was a very lonely man and he was only 29, how depressing.

John sighed and walked back to his flat, it wasn't very far from the hospital, about a five minute walk if he was having a good day with his leg. He'd rather spend his money on better things rather than on cabs when he could just walk.

As soon as he got in, he threw his keys on the table beside the front door, pushed off his jacket and stepped out of his shoes. He tiredly fell onto his bed, sighing in relief as the soft surface caught him. He knew he needed to get up and get dressed before even thinking about falling asleep, but once his eyes closed, he was dead to the world.

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Sherlock sat quietly at the kitchen table. He flicked his cigarette ash into his tea mug which had long-gone cold and looked up towards the ceiling. He could hear Joel moving about the bedroom; obviously he had realized Sherlock didn't go up to bed.

Sherlock had tried sleeping for once, but as soon as he tried to turn over into a comfortable position, the pain in his side would worsen. He also couldn't face sleeping in the same bed with Joel.

What was stopping him from leaving right now? It wasn't fear...was it? No, no that's completely irrational for Sherlock, he doesn't _do _fear. He looked towards the front door, feeling a heat rise in his stomach. He could leave, if he really wanted to he could walk right out of that door, but where would he go? Mother had made it quite clear that she wanted nothing to do with him after Mycroft had quite pointedly deduced what had happened between him and Joel the week after things had gotten violent.

Mother had quietly tried reasoning with Sherlock, telling him that she would always be there to help him when he's down. So Sherlock trusted her, told her _everything_. When he was finished, her face went from sad to angry and she stood from her chair so fast she had knocked it backwards. Mycroft looked up from his seat on the far side of the room with concern. Mother yelled at Sherlock, telling him that he shouldn't stay with such a man.

Sherlock had protested, feeling a bit more than betrayed by his Mother's hypocritical statements. Mother had then told him either stay with Joel and lose his family, or stay with the family and lose Joel. Out of uncontrolled anger, Sherlock had chosen Joel.

How stupid he was. How pathetic he was. So, so pathetic.

That happened just over two months ago, Sherlock believed. It shocked him how fast time moved how he had been enduring almost three months of abuse. Of course, this time was far more serious than the others, the fact that he actually had to be admitted to A&E said it all.

Sherlock dropped his cigarette into the mug and sighed to himself, Joel wasn't moving upstairs anymore so perhaps he had gone to bed.

"Babe, why you not in bed?" Joel wrapped his naked arms around Sherlock's shoulders, making the other man jump from the sudden action.

"Couldn't sleep." Sherlock muttered. Joel paused and pulled away from him.

"Everything all right?"

"Peachy," Sherlock smiled sarcastically, "go back to bed, today has been tough for you."

"Don't start." Joel sighed angrily, stomping over to the kitchen sink. "You can be such a whiney bitch sometimes."

"Oh, I'm sorry, am I not supposed to complain about my abusive boyfriend?" There was a pregnant pause and suddenly Sherlock wanted to swallow his words, just erase the fact that he said them. He hesitantly looked at Joel who was staring at him with something dark in his eyes.

Sherlock looked away. This was it, wasn't it? He had pushed him too far hadn't he? Abusive was the one way to describe it, but he shouldn't have described it; he should have just shut up and gone to bed.

The chair beside him scraped against the kitchen floor and Sherlock tensed, waiting for the verbal attack or the punches. When nothing came but a soft hand over his, Sherlock turned to the man sitting next to him. "I love you and I don't _ever _want to hurt you again. I'll get help, if that's what it takes to prove how much I love you, I will get help and I promise I will _never_ hurt you again."

Sherlock swallowed hard. This was the man he fell in love with – right here, sitting in front of him; the affectionate, beautiful man he had first seen. Silently, he nodded, voice suddenly lost.

"Take some of the painkillers that doctor gave you and then we'll go to bed, ok?" Joel smiled and rubbed a thumb over Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock regarded his messy blonde hair and felt warmth spread through his chest. "Sounds like a plan." He smiled and kissed Joel softly on the lips.

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**This chapter was a bit boring, I guess I'm just dragging it out as much as I can :v **

**Next time: Does Joel actually get help? And John gets a visit from a strange man. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you all for the lovely reviews and thank you for follows, it's lovely to know that** **people actually like my stories! :D**

**WARNINGS: contains abuse and mentions of non-explicit rape. **

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John woke up in the same lonely flat he fell asleep in. He blinked a few times before realizing he had his work clothes still on and that it was still slightly dark outside. Tiredly, John's eyes travelled over to the alarm clock beside his bed, _6:27am. _He sighed deeply; he never really got any decent sleep even though he was always exhausted.

The bed creaked as John sat up trying his best to unruffle his shirt, which he soon realized was impossible because it was creased beyond repair. Yawning, John climbed out of bed and stretched. Mornings weren't his best time of day if he was honest; he was constantly grumpy, reason why Sarah gave him late night shifts.

All he really wanted was a hot shower and then to crawl back into bed and sleep until his next shift, which is exactly what he would do. As he approached the shower, his thoughts went back to that Sherlock bloke – he knew he'd been avoiding thinking about him, it would just stir his thoughts. Such a handsome man, how could anybody ever think to hurt him?

In a way, it angered John. It angered him to know that people out in the world get treated by shit by the ones they love, and even though it's never happened to him, he could only imagine how vulgar it must feel. Seeing the bruises on Sherlock's chest churned his anger, thinking about them also churned his anger and he wished he would stop thinking about it, but he just couldn't.

He should have said something, he should have helped and maybe he could have helped? Or maybe it was nothing. John was probably wrong, Sherlock might have actually fallen and his boyfriend was just unsure of how to deal with it.

Maybe...Just maybe. John sighed and laid back into bed, clean and tired. He set his alarm for 4pm and drifted back into a dark sleep.

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"Hey, hey, babe, wake up." Joel's voice pulled Sherlock out of his sleep. He blinked and looked up at the face looked down at him.

"What is it?" Sherlock asked rubbing his eyes then flinching in pain as he tried to move his right arm.

"That." Joel laughed, "I thought I'd bring you some of those painkillers so you don't wake up later in too much pain."

Sherlock smiled lightly and shut his eyes, feeling suddenly very comfortable in the bed. "I'll be down in a minute."

"I brought them up, you bullock." Joel knelt beside Sherlock and held out two white tablets and a glass of water. Sherlock smiled again and sat up slightly, taking both tablets into his mouth and swallowing them down with the water.

"Thank you." He leaned in and planted a soft kiss on Joel's lips and lay back down. Joel smiled eagerly and stood again.

"I've been looking- at some support groups online, you know." He looked around the room, avoiding eye contact. "I'll be downstairs, just call me if you need me, babe." He walked to the bedroom door, but before he left he peered back around the door, "I love you."

Sherlock smirked and lifted a hand to lie lazily over his forehead, "I love you too." And he drifted back into a sleep.

Only, it was a few hours before he awoke again to the sound of glass being smashed. He carefully shuffled out of bed and to the bedroom door, wary of the sounds coming from downstairs. "Joel?" He called stepping into the kitchen, suddenly jumping back as another smash of glass was heard.

Then, Joel was in his face. "I told you to call me if you needed anything, what are you doing out of bed?" He was slightly out of breath, his eyes were bloodshot. Sherlock stared at him for a moment, calculating, before Joel spoke again, "don't do that thing you do, just don't."

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked pushing past him to look into the kitchen. He was far from surprised when he saw glass littering the kitchen floor. "What happened in here?"

He turned back to Joel who was clenching and unclenching his fists – _aggravated _– Sherlock looked over his features while waiting for an answer.

"I just-well, you know. I just lost it." Joel ran his fingers through his hair, "I'm sorry."

Sherlock looked more than stunned at the confession _and _apology. "No, no it's fine. Did something happen?" He asked scanning the room.

The phone had been lunged at the wall causing a crack in the plaster – _sister must have called to talk. _

"It was Beth." Joel admitted. Sherlock could hear how ashamed he was.

Beth was Joel's eldest sister. She knew what was going on in their relationship too, but she blamed Sherlock for a majority of it, said he deserved it. Sherlock wasn't fond of her, neither was Joel, she was always telling Joel to leave Sherlock and find someone with 'more backbone'. The main reason Beth would have called is because she wanted to lecture Joel, _again, _oh why he should abandon Sherlock.

"'Course you probably already knew that." Joel scoffed, "with your brilliant mind and all."

"Yes." Sherlock regarded how Joel's fists were shaking. Before he could say anything, his back was against the kitchen counter and Joel was leaning over him.

"Why don't we," he kissed Sherlock deeply on the lips, "go to bed?"

Sherlock didn't need to think twice before his answer, by the way Joel was acting, obviously he was taking his anger out by sex. That would not go down well, especially with Sherlock's injury. "I don't think that's a good idea."

Joel frowned, "why not?"

Sherlock ushered towards his chest and Joel sniggered, "I'll be gentle of course."

"I said no."

"Oh for God's sake." Joel sighed and pushed himself away from Sherlock. He ran his fingers through his hair and pulled, "you're so fucking selfish."

Sherlock could immediately tell this was going to cause problems, but in no way was he fit enough to engage in sexual activity. If Joel was going to force himself on him, then so be it, Sherlock would go down fighting. "How the hell am I selfish?"

"You put yourself on display and I'm suddenly not allowed to touch!" Joel gestured to Sherlock's naked chest.

"Well, it was far too painful to put a t-shirt on." Sherlock remarked quietly looking out the kitchen window.

"Oh, what was that?" Joel stormed up to Sherlock, "suddenly it's my fault you're frigid?"

"Yes, actually." Sherlock sneered and pushed Joel backwards, darting for the hallway when Joel swore loudly. Two hands wrapped around Sherlock's arm and pulled him backwards forcefully, Sherlock hissed in pain.

"Where do you think you're going, huh?" Joel snarled pushing Sherlock against the wall. "Don't fucking walk away from me."

Sherlock could only feel severe pain as his body was pushed against the wall and Joel's heavy body. He tried pushing Joel off him but received a backhand slap. He knew exactly what was going to happen and he knew the only way he could deal with it was if he went to his mind palace; locked himself away until he was sure it was all over.

And that's exactly what he did.


	5. Chapter 5

**WARNINGS: this chapter contains attempted suicide.**

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John darted out of bed once he heard his phone ringing. He'd overslept and skipped his alarm, how he even managed that was beyond him, but nonetheless he really needed to get a move on. Sarah had been calling him for what seemed like ten minutes now, so as he pulled on a pair of clean work trousers, he balanced the phone between his shoulder and ear. "Yes?"

"John, you were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago, where are you?" Sarah sounded impatient.

John tucked his shirt into his trousers quickly, "I'm literally just leaving my flat now, sorry."

"All right, be here as soon as you can, we've had a flu outbreak." And she hung up.

John swore quietly and put his shoes on while looping his tie. "Keys: check, phone: check, ID card: check. Right." He muttered to himself grabbing his coat and dashing out the door. He looked down at his watch and sighed quietly, he'd have to take a cab if he was going to get there soon.

It took John the maximum of three minutes to get to work in a cab on a Sunday night. He threw his money at the driver, dashed into the hospital and avoided Sarah at all costs. Huffing at the rush of being late, John smiled tiredly at a few patients who regarded him as he walked past and into his office.

As soon as he shut the door, he noticed a figure sitting at his desk. "Uh...Hello." John frowned and took off his coat slowly, placing it on the coat rack. This man looked very high-class; tailored suit, combed back hair and vacant smile planted on his face. He had an umbrella in his hand, which was odd because it wasn't supposed to rain until next week.

"Hello, Dr. Watson. I believe you attended to a patient last night by the name of Sherlock Holmes."

John was taken aback, "Sorry, who are you?"

"I'm the brother of said patient, Mycroft Holmes."

_Ah, thought he looked familiar. Well, similar._

"Right, so...what are you doing here exactly?"

"What seemed to be the problem with my brother, Dr. Watson?"

"Uh," John tried to think, "concussion, two cracked ribs, one broken – sorry, what _are _you doing here?"

"I'm worried immensely about my brother; he hasn't visited the hospital since he was six years old."

"Yes, well, things happen." John looked towards the door and then at the clock, he was already late and this infuriating 'Mycroft Holmes' was making things difficult.

"Do you happen to know how he got those injuries?"

"I have a theory, yes, but I have other patients to attend so if you wouldn't mind," John smiled forcefully as he opened the door to his office.

"I'm sure discussing a domestic violence issue is far more worthy of your time than 'recovering' alcoholics and flu ridden children." Mycroft gave a distasteful smile, more so like a grimace, and looked around the office. John inwardly sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"If you're _that _concerned about him, why don't you speak to him? He is _your_ brother after all."

"Sibling rivalry brings out the worst in us." Mycroft commented looking down at his umbrella. He rose from his chair and strolled towards the door. "If anything else happens, do feel free to contact me, Dr. Watson." He pulled a card from the pocket inside his blazer and handed it to John before walking out of the office.

John frowned at the card in his hands and shut the office door. By the looks of it, the Holmes family were a mess. _Wait..._

"_I'm sure discussing a domestic violence issue is far more worthy of your time than 'recovering' alcoholics and flu ridden children."_

So John was right, he was definitely right. He wasn't happy about being right, of course he wasn't, it just made him feel ten times worse for not being able to help. Sighing, John hoped he wouldn't _have_ to treat Sherlock again.

* * *

It was a few hours later when Sherlock came to. He had been aware of everything during those hours, aware of the pain, the deep rotting feeling in his chest; everything.

He sat on the kitchen floor feeling disgusting and pathetic. It was almost as if he was empty, as if he was broken - like a machine with a cracked gear or a missing bolt. It _hurt_.

It all just hurt an unbearable amount and Sherlock ran his fingers through his hair and _pulled. _This was how it was going to be, wasn't it? Constantly falling for Joel then being disappointed and beaten – _raped – _how long would it be until everything just _stopped_?

Sherlock was lost, he had nobody to turn to – who would bother being a shoulder to cry on for such a pathetic person such as himself? There was John, of course, that doctor – but he was _just _at doctor. He didn't care; it was just his job to act like he did. Joel was right, he was always right; Sherlock would have nothing if he left.

After Joel was finished with him, he'd said "you asked for it." And disappeared. Where? Sherlock didn't know – didn't _care _– he just wanted it all to stop.

Sherlock pulled himself off the floor with the support of the wall, rippling pain spreading through his body. He lifted a hand to his face and felt blood, obviously from when Joel smacked him for trying to break away. Why did he bother fighting anymore?

In his time of darkness, he began to stumble towards the bathroom. A thought was niggling at the back of his mind, something dark- something very dark.

_You want to make it stop, yes? _

Yes, he did.

_You know exactly how to make it all stop. _

And he did know; _suicide._ It was straightforward, simple, and easy, depending on how you did it. Blood loss could take up to seven hours and Sherlock didn't want to have those thoughts of regret circling his head as he watched himself die. It was stupid, he didn't need it.

Now an overdose, that was more applicable. Once he approached the bathroom, Sherlock searched the cupboard quietly in case Joel was home; he also avoided looking at his appearance, knowing he would just make himself sick. He found a pot of aspirin sitting near the back of the cupboard, without any hesitation, he grabbed it and counted how many were in the pot.

_Almost full. _He would have put it back if he thought twice, but he wasn't going to think twice. That dark hollowness felt like it was growing in his chest, his shoulders felt weighed down and almost as if they were cracking under some sort of pressure.

No, no he couldn't face this anymore. He was going to show everybody just how broken he was, he going to get back at Joel this way; he can't fight anymore.

It felt like a clock was ticking quickly in Sherlock's head as he swallowed three pills at a time until the entire pot of aspirin was almost empty, already he felt dizzy and lightheaded, knowing he wouldn't need to take any more – _couldn't _– take any more.

"Babe, what're you doing?" Joel sounded wary. Sherlock looked into the bathroom mirror in front of him and saw Joel's body standing in the doorway; his face was a mixture of interest and confusion.

Sherlock felt sick.

Suddenly his head was thrown forward as he vomited into the sink, a striking pain ripping through his body. He noticed that he'd dropped the pot so the rest of the aspirin spilled out over the floor. Joel gasped loudly and was by Sherlock's side in an instant, "what the fuck have you done!?" He yelled forcefully turning Sherlock towards him.

Sherlock sneered at him, "You're scared. I can see it in your eyes." He slurred as Joel's eyes grew wide, "_I'll be dead and you'll be even sorrier than you are now._" And he laughed.

Sherlock laughed, quite breathlessly, but he laughed. The dark feeling had lifted from his shoulders, he almost felt free when his body fell against Joel's. A black liquid was grasping at Sherlock's arms; it felt like he was being pulled down, further and further.

He could hear Joel yelling, pleading and shaking his body before, as Sherlock assumed, he ran to call an ambulance.

Sherlock Holmes was free.

* * *

**I want to thank everyone again for the lovely reviews and follows/favourites ;w; **


	6. Chapter 6

**Just so you're all aware, I'm clueless on how pagers work. I know how long it takes for a body to decompose in humid conditions; I know how many hours of sleep each type of sleeping pill can give you, but I'm a complete idiot when it comes to pagers and phones and printers.**

**WARNINGS: mentions of suicide/ attempted suicide.**

* * *

It had been a long day for John; a very, very long day. Flu outbreaks were the worst for the A&E unit, mothers bringing their screaming children into the waiting room which was usually quiet, old men coughing and wheezing, teenage boys sneezing and sniffing – hell, sometimes even vomiting on the floor!

Why they were in A&E, John didn't know. This wasn't just a walk-in-get-checked-out facility, it was an accident and emergency facility, for accidents and emergencies, such as husbands slicing their hands open trying to do a bit of DIY or wives cutting their fingers off while cutting veggies, not bloody sniffling children who don't even have the manners to put their hands over their mouths before they cough in John's face.

John looked up at the clock again – _Just four more hours and you can get out of here._

His stomach rumbled loudly and he realized he hadn't eaten since yesterday. Sighing loudly, John popped his head out of his office to see if there were any more flu ridden kids needing to be told the same thing as anybody else. Thankfully, there weren't and John walked fast down the hallway to the break room. Even if he didn't have time to eat, a coffee would do the trick until he finished his shift.

Then his pager beeped just as he took the first sip of the glorious hot coffee. He sighed in relief as the warm liquid flowed down his throat and the strong bitter taste danced on his tongue. He looked down at his pager and inhaled sharply. It was a 91-55-30, meaning a suicide.

That was what got John, always the suicides. He hated them with a passion; he hated having to save someone who really, truly wanted to die. There were the ones who thanked him for saving them and those he smiled and waved at as they left, but there were the ones who you could see didn't want to be around. John hated having to look them in the eye and tell them they were going live, he saw all of the depression they had been holding come up to surface and it made him want to throw in the gloves – leave his job, let people die.

He closed his eyes and shook his head, even if he didn't want to; he needed to save anybody he could. The world just didn't work like it used to.

Quickly, he took a large gulp of coffee, hissing after he forcefully swallowed the burning liquid and threw the rest in the bin as he rushed to the surgery unit. Once he pushed open the doors, he saw that tall, messy blonde sitting in the waiting room, face in his hands. He frowned and then threw the thought aside, no. He just needed to forget about Sherlock for now.

He thought that until he dashed into the operating room and saw Sherlock lying on the hospital bed.

_Oh my God..._He blinked a few times before he realized somebody was yelling in his face, telling him to get his gear on. John couldn't take his eyes off Sherlock's pale face as he finished pulling on the latex glove, "what happened?" He asked Molly who was rushing around.

"Overdose; we need to pump his stomach _now_." She pushed passed John and he knew he needed to get his act together.

* * *

After the procedure, John was the one to speak to this _Joel _bloke sitting in the waiting room. He wasn't happy about it, not at all. Quite frankly he wanted to punch the man in the face, but he was a doctor and that wouldn't be very professional.

"Joel Baits?"

The sad excuse for a man rose his head and spoke, "yeah, here."

_It's not a fucking register. _"The procedure went according to plan; Sherl- _Mr_. Holmes will need at least a week of recovery. He's currently sedated meaning he is awake, but just very weak."

Joel nodded, "so, now what?"

Oh John wanted to punch this stupid man right off the earth. "Well you can go in and visit him or you can go home." John almost sneered at him.

"I'll...I'm going to go in and speak to him. I just- I have to make a call first." Joel was almost out of the door before John could make a snide remark. He sighed and walked back through the double doors and onwards to Sherlock's room.

John couldn't help feeling frustrated with himself for wanting to save this man so much. It was wrong to feel so strongly about somebody else, well to John it was. After she...Sophie, had left him.

No he shouldn't think about that now, his main priority had to be Sherlock. He approached room 221 and quietly opened the door, feeling a shiver go down his spine as he looked upon Sherlock's weakened body in the hospital bed.

He also felt anger. So much anger, the grip on his clipboard could easily cause it to snap in two.

John, very unprofessionally, pulled up a chair beside his bed and spoke softly, "Sherlock?"

A pair of dim blue eyes were on him in an instant and John smiled kindly, he could see so much hurt in those eyes, so much defence in his face. That _Joel _ruined such a handsome man.

"Dr. Watson." Sherlock said quietly, voice dry and collapsed of any emotion.

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine."

John looked around the room before speaking again, "you're obviously not. Do you know what happened?"

Sherlock wasn't looking at John now, he was staring straight ahead. "I had a headache, I took some aspirin."

"You took over fifteen, you _overdosed_ on aspirin." John saw Sherlock tense and jotted a few notes down on paper when he didn't reply. "Your partner will be in to see you soon, he's-"

Sherlock turned his head to John in an instant, "no, don't let him in."

John paused, "why not?"

Even if he knew the answer, it didn't mean he couldn't ask. He did, however, need a valid reason to stop someone visiting.

"I can't face him. Not yet." Sherlock's voice went quiet again, but he was looking at John.

John was quiet for a few moments, considering his next sentence. "I can help you, you know."

"What do you mean?" Sherlock narrowed his eyes, "I don't need help."

John scoffed, "oh, you do."

"I don't think-"

John held up his hands, "you're my patient and you need help."

"I don't need help." Sherlock yelled.

"My, my, stubborn as ever." A voice spoke from the doorway. John turned around to see Mycroft Holmes with his trusty umbrella and rose from his chair.

"Go away Mycroft." Sherlock hissed.

"Mr. Holmes, could I speak to you outside?" John asked walking towards the door. Mycroft followed without a reply.

"What is it, Dr. Watson?"

"Attempted suicide – he tried to kill himself."

"I do know what suicide is." Mycroft said distastefully, "I also know my brother enough to understand just how desperate he must have been to want to take his own life."

John pinched the bridge of his nose, _what was it with this man that made him so uncomfortable? _"He needs to get help; he needs to get away from that _man._"

"You have an awful amount of care for him, Dr. Watson." Mycroft frowned.

"Yes, well." John couldn't quite finish his sentence, what could he say to that? It was true. "You have an awfully low amount of care for him, seeing as he's your brother."

"Caring is not an advantage." Mycroft commented, "Besides, he's far too stubborn to accept help from me."

John was about to speak when he saw Joel approaching them. He stepped in between the door and Joel, "sorry, Mr. Holmes doesn't want to see you."

Joel paused, "what the hell, why not?"

John clenched his teeth, sucked up his damn pride and spoke softly, "I'm sorry, but he said he didn't want to see you."

"You can't stop me from seeing my own boyfriend." Joel barked, his face centimetres from John's, "what are you going to do to stop me?"

"Uh, I can get you removed off the premises by security, that's what I can bloody do."

"Oh I see what's going on." Joel smirked, "you're sleeping with him, ain't you?"

"What?" John scoffed. This man was aching for a kick in the bollocks.

"Yeah, you're the doctor from last time. I saw you eyeing him up, I'm not blind." Joel went to barge past but John pushed him back forcefully,

"I'm warning you _Mr. Baits_, you step one foot in that door and you _will _regret it." John warned lowly. Joel looked between John and Mycroft then let out a breath of frustration and stepped back.

"I'll be back, don't you worry." He snarled before storming towards the exit.

John watched him go feeling very proud of himself, he then looked at Mycroft, "well thanks for the bloody help."

Mycroft rolled his eyes, "do you really think he would have listened to me anymore than he would have listened to you?"

"You-" John growled in frustration, "you are the worst brother of the century, you know that?" And he walked back into Sherlock's room with Mycroft in tow.

Mycroft had left shortly after returning to Sherlock's room. John was extremely surprised to see how badly the two brothers coped with their 'sibling rivalry'. He tried to look uninterested while checking Sherlock's vitals except he couldn't help but listen into the conversation.

"What are you actually doing here, Mycroft?" Sherlock glared at his brother, "come to spy on me?"

"I'm here to help you, why do you find that so difficult to understand?"

"Help me?" Sherlock scoffed weakly, "what, like you 'helped' me before, when you turned my own Mother against me?"

"She gave you a choice, Sherlock, a fair one at that." Mycroft said calmly.

"To choose between my family or the man I-" Sherlock stopped himself and looked away.

"The man you what?" Mycroft repeated, amused. "Love? Don't be so absent with your emotions; get yourself together for God's sake."

Sherlock remained quiet and Mycroft had stood from his chair, "you're already an embarrassment to our family, Sherlock, I suggest you choose your next move wisely." He turned away, "I'll be in touch. Dr. Watson, a moment of your time?"

John looked up from his clipboard and nodded, following Mycroft out of the room after throwing a glance at Sherlock.

"Keep him here until necessary and do not let him out of your sight, is that clear?" Mycroft gave a menacing look and John felt a shiver go down his spine. He discovered this man was a lot more intimidating than he looked.

"Of course, Mr. Holmes." John said, forcing a smile on his face. Mycroft gave a quick smile before turning away and leaving the hospital.

John let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. This was going to be a long week.

* * *

**Next time: Joel does return after John and Sherlock bond.**


	7. Chapter 7

Sherlock felt terrible. Beyond terrible if he was honest; it felt like someone had dropped a brick on his head and tried yanking his outsides out through his throat. Every time he moved, he felt ill and sluggish. It was difficult to move his arms, it was almost as if they were being weighed down; suddenly he could feel the amount of blood in his body and it was making it difficult to move.

Mentally, he was exhausted. He just didn't want to try to anymore, what was the point? They were keeping him alive when he had nothing to live for, it was pointless and stupid. He just wanted to be left completely alone.

Among the many nurses and doctors to check on him, John Watson was the only one he would speak to without any snarky remarks or sarcastic answers. There was something different about John, Sherlock didn't know what it was and it made his time in the hospital ten times more frustrating.

It had been around three days since Sherlock was brought in and during that time, John had made it easier. He'd come in every so often to check if everything was fine, which it was, but when John left, Sherlock began to feel slightly panicked and anxious. Every person that would pass his room, he began to think it was Joel; he honestly only ever felt safe with John in the room.

John had told him he was on the caution list, meaning he had to be watched almost all the time due to his suicide attempt. He also said if Sherlock showed any serious signs of depression – self harm, another attempted suicide – he would be admitted to the psychiatric ward.

This didn't scare Sherlock in any way, he didn't care. As soon as he got out of this hospital, he'd have to go straight back to Joel anyway, it made no difference where he was or who he was with, he would need to go back someday. That was what scared him.

"Sherlock?" John's voice broke through Sherlock's thoughts and he looked up at the doctor.

"Hello Doctor Watson." Sherlock said shortly, watching the other man bring the chair beside his bed forward and sit down.

"Call me John." He said and Sherlock felt oddly comfortable at that,"How are you feeling today?"

"Fine."

"As always," John chuckled and jotted something down on his clipboard, "Any headaches, vomiting or abdominal pain?"

"No."

"That's good. Very good, means you won't have any long term problems." John smiled kindly. His smile was infectious but Sherlock resisted the urge to smile back. "I was thinking we could maybe have a chat?"

Sherlock paused, "about what?" He asked warily.

"Anything really," John smiled, "but specifically personal things."

Sherlock contemplated this for a few seconds. Really it all depended on what John was going to ask him.

"I won't push you to answer something you don't want to answer." John cut in as if he was reading Sherlock's thoughts.

"All right." Sherlock agreed and sat up straight.

John smiled again, "brilliant."

* * *

John was more than happy to check in on Sherlock once in a while. He hadn't really gotten to know him, hell, he hardly knew anything about him and he wanted to change that.

Among everything else, he wanted to help him; John could not express that enough. He wanted to drag Sherlock away from this all, he could see how easily effected Sherlock was by all of this – the man tried to bloody kill himself. His brother wasn't of much help either; he visited twice during the three days, the first time being when Sherlock was brought in, the second time, the pair of them just sat in silence.

He didn't know how the Holmes siblings worked but he was pretty sure even that was unusual for the both of them. It also made feel a bit stressed; he couldn't talk to Mycroft about Sherlock because the other was apparently 'far too busy to pay attention to his stubborn little brother' and had motioned for John to take his place, sending Mycroft the appropriate information on how Sherlock was getting on – which wasn't very good.

He was too quiet for John's liking, he hardly ate and drank so they had to keep him on the IV and he always looked so pale and exhausted.

Today John had decided to try and get to know Sherlock, get to know how he was feeling also. It turned out to be more difficult than expected, John tried to be friendly as always, but Sherlock just never saw any humour in _anything_. Well now that John thought about it, how could he?

It was hard to see such a man fail to smile and never laugh.

The thought of that _Joel _made his blood boil, what a disgusting man. He wouldn't let him step foot in this hospital as if his life depended on it.

"Where are you going to go when you leave here?" John asked out of curiosity after minutes of trying to get general, everyday answers of out the other man.

"Home, where else?"

John dreaded the thought of that, "why do you keep going back to him?" John asked, "that...that brute."

Sherlock let out a short laugh and John savoured it, it was the first time he'd seen him laugh. "I don't know," He began, "I'm nothing without him."

"No, it's the other way around, he's nothing without you." John said leaning back in his chair.

When Sherlock didn't reply, John spoke again, "So it was him that made you do it?"

Sherlock looked away, "I don't know."

John nodded slowly and went to speak again but Sherlock spoke again, "I...I felt lost. Disturbingly lost, I was destroyed – ruined, because of...because of _him._ I needed to be in control again." His voice was low but John listened carefully.

"What did he do?"

"He broke me, John." Sherlock shook his head. John stared at Sherlock and immediately he could see all the hurt in his eyes, he placed his hand over Sherlock's without realizing but continued to speak anyway,

"Let me help you."

Sherlock gave another short laugh, "you can't help me."

"I can try, please."

Sherlock looked back up at John then at the hand covering his, "how?"

"I'm sure I'll find a way." He smiled and this time Sherlock did smile back.

John sat there until Sherlock had drifted into a sleep, since Sherlock had told him a few more details on how he had been feeling since he was put in hospital, John decided to try and find ways to help him feel more comfortable, one of those feelings was fear which John could understand.

Sherlock admitted, in very few words, to being scared – well, paranoid – that Joel would come and find him and 'finish him off'. John had promised Sherlock that that wasn't going to happen; as John put it 'over my dead body.'

Bloody too right over his dead body, Joel wasn't going to step an inch into Sherlock's room, he wasn't going to lay a finger on him ever again and John was damn sure of it. John took to waiting until Sherlock was asleep until he would leave, but he would also check up on him ever ten or fifteen minutes unless he was extremely busy with other things – Sherlock was his main priority at the moment so everything else could wait; especially snotty kids with bad manners.

John rose from his chair quietly and left the room, strolling back to his office quickly to check when he was available for check-ups. Really, he should be in his office all the time on his shifts, but what Sarah didn't know won't hurt her. He would get a severe bollocking if she found out he'd been spending more time than needed with a patient, she didn't pay him to sit around and get to know his patients, she paid him to sit in his office all day and wait until he was summoned.

On the way, he bumped into Molly who looked very flustered. "Oh, afternoon." John smiled.

"Hello John, where've you been? I've hardly seen you about." She asked walking with him.

"I've, uh, just been doing a bit of paperwork. You know, prescriptions and all that." He lied, "taken the life out of me, it really has."

"I know how you feel," Molly laughed and they carried on walking in silence until John got to his office. He was about to say goodbye before Molly spoke,

"I know you've been spending time with that man," She began, "the one on the risk list."

"Ah." John avoided looking at Molly, feeling a bit stupid.

"But its ok, I won't tell anyone." She said quickly, "I've seen the way you look at him, like there's no one else that matters but just him. It's nice to see, I like to see you happy, John." Molly smiled.

John chuckled, "thank you Molly."

Molly nudged him, gave him a wave and walked off. John watched her go, smiling to himself before opening his office door and quickly checking the schedule in his notebook. He had about half an hour before he needed to be back in his office; he peered out and looked out into the waiting room – _not likely that there will be a serious problem, either way they can page me. _

He put his notebook back and walked back to Sherlock's room. Just as he was walking down the hallway, he saw a tall figure with short blonde hair enter Sherlock's room.

_Oh no you fucking don't. _

John darted down the hallway. He went to barge into the hospital room but decided to wait by the door and peek in when he saw Joel sitting on the chair with his head on the bed resting by Sherlock's legs. He was speaking quietly; it was obvious he was crying, his voice was whiney and full of emotion. Sherlock, however, looked distant, as if he wasn't listening to anything Joel was saying.

"-I'm such a horrible boyfriend, I can't believe I made you do this to yourself, I'm so sorry."

There was a tense silence as Joel's sobs could be heard. It made John sick. _So this is how he drags him back, he says sorry and practically drowns himself in self pity_. _What a sad excuse for a partner. _

"Babe, please just say something." Joel lifted his head and looked up at Sherlock.

"Do you know why I overdosed?" Sherlock spoke quietly.

Joel opened his mouth to reply but Sherlock cut him off, "Because of you."

"But you're ok now, we can-"

"I wanted to _die _because of _you_." Sherlock rose his voice, "do you have any idea how much you've destroyed me? Does any part of what's left of your brain understand just how _sick _you've made me?"

Joel gripped his hand and tried to quiet him down, "shush, babe, its ok now."

"It is not _fucking _ok." Sherlock sat up straight and began pulling out his IV tube and John rushed in, "_you have killed me!_" Sherlock hissed and Joel rose from the chair, backing away as much as possible as John tried to hold Sherlock down.

"I think its best you leave." John yelled over Sherlock's shouts. When Joel didn't move, John shouted even louder, "_Get out!_"

Joel stared wide eyed and darted out of the hospital room. John felt slightly relieved but he still had a distressed patient at hand.

"Sherlock, Sherlock calm down," John pinned Sherlock's arms down beside him, "he's gone – Joel's gone."

But Sherlock still struggled, telling John to get off and let him go. John had no other choice but to call for back up and get Sherlock sedated again, of course having to put the IV tube back in again.

This was painful for John to do, to see a man like Sherlock break down like this – John hated Joel more than ever.

Once the nurses had sedated Sherlock, John looked down at the blood on his hands from Sherlock's arm and sighed, this was horrible and this made the ache in his chest throb so much. He was breathing heavily from the exertion of trying to hold Sherlock down.

John also felt frustrated with himself – he'd promised to help Sherlock as much as he could, he could have avoided this; he could have stopped Joel if he would have just waited around for a few minutes more.

He felt so bloody guilty. Sherlock got to him in so many ways.


	8. Chapter 8

John had been working longer than he intended, he really just wanted to go and check on Sherlock but he'd been bundled with patients – turns out there's been a chicken pox outbreak in a local retirement home, meaning the senile buggers needed full on care.

Molly had been in to help him a few times, she'd asked him if he wanted anything and he asked if she could check up on Sherlock. She happily nodded and rushed out of the office, only to return a few moments later with, 'he says he's fine'.

John thanked her and smiled to himself, _well if he says he's fine, he's obviously fine. _

"He is a bit good looking isn't he." Molly gave a cheeky smile.

John laughed, "Blimey Molly, behave."

"He's lucky to have someone like you to care so much about him." She patted John's shoulder hesitantly.

John took hold of her hand, "it makes me wonder why you don't have someone."

Molly gave a sad smile, "nobody wants somebody as boring as me."

"Molly," John said seriously, "you are one of the most beautiful women I know; you're kind, funny and incredibly smart. You're also bloody good at reading people, I'll give you that." Molly was staring at John with a slight blush creeping over her cheeks, "any man would be damn lucky to have you."

"Th-thank you John," She smiled shyly, "I don't quite know what to say."

"You can say anything you want, as long as you don't doubt yourself." John gave her hand a gentle squeeze before letting it go. "Well, I best get on, these poor old folk aren't getting any younger."

"I guess not," Molly chuckled, "speak to you later." She said as she left; a cheerful spring in her step. There is nothing more satisfying than giving somebody a self-esteem boost.

When John had finally finished his shift, he quickly made his way to Sherlock's room. He wanted to make sure Sherlock was all right before he left; he knew he wouldn't catch a wink of sleep if he didn't.

Silently entering the room, he discovered that Sherlock wasn't asleep, more so he was reading a book. John was happy to see him up, lately he seemed as though he didn't have the motivation to do anything. It was quite dark outside and with the dull lighting in the room; John tried to adjust his eyes to the sudden change in lighting.

"Hello John." Sherlock's smooth voice broke the silence John was trying so hard to keep; he didn't really want to disturb Sherlock

"Evening," John smiled sitting down in the chair, "how are you feeling?"

"You've finished work," Sherlock put his book down and his eyes roamed over John, "why have you come to see how I am when you've finished work?"

"I wanted to see if you're all right." John shrugged, "is that such a crime?"

"No, of course not," Sherlock replied shortly, "I'm fine."

John nodded, _typical answer._ "It's just, well, after today-"

"I said I'm fine." Sherlock said quickly.

"All right, all right," John put his hands up in defeat, "I more or less wanted to apologize."

"What for?"

"For leaving your side," John admitted, "I went to check on a few things and when I came back, there he was. I'm sorry."

"Don't be so ridiculous," Sherlock scoffed, "you couldn't have known."

John paused and then gave a breathless laugh. There were a few moments of silence before John stood to say goodbye.

"John," Sherlock spoke softly,

"Yes?"

"If...if you really love someone, you wouldn't hurt them would you?"

"In no way, shape or form would you hurt them." John replied seriously, sitting back down.

"I see." Sherlock said quietly.

When he didn't say anything more, John spoke softly, "how long did it go on for?"

Sherlock was silent first before speaking, "no more than three months."

"And there was nobody who could've helped you?"

"Of course not, it would have been pointless, I was blinded by Joel's lies; nobody _wanted _to help me." Sherlock scoffed.

John's lips formed a thin line, "I'm guessing that's where the sibling rivalry started with Mycroft."

"Yes, a week after...after, well, you know." Sherlock waved his hand in a circle, "he deduced aloud everything that had happened in front of our Mother. As you can imagine, she wasn't very happy."

"I bet," John commented.

"After that week, things between Joel and I just got progressively worse." Sherlock began, his voice held so much emotion that John just wanted to hold him and never let go. "It started off verbal, then physical and soon after that he-" Sherlock broke off and went silent.

John thought for a moment then came to the horrible realization of what Sherlock meant, "He raped you, didn't he." John felt bitter as the words left his mouth.

When Sherlock nodded slowly, John clenched his fists and tried to quietly take a deep, calming breath.

"A lot of the time I just kept thinking 'this is my fault, I let this happen'." Sherlock admitted, "so many times I should have to shut up - not provoked him."

"Don't you dare think it was your fault." John looked Sherlock dead in the eye, "that man is the only one to blame, whether or not you 'provoked' him, he should have never raised his fist to you; you don't hurt the ones you love. Well, not intentionally anyway."

Sherlock didn't speak for what felt like minutes.

"How do you know all of this?" He asked, sounding stunned.

"That?" John raised an eyebrow, "its common sense."

"I wasn't aware of it."

"Well, you're not exactly a common man, are you Mister Holmes." John smiled.

"I can agree with that." Sherlock chuckled looking down at the book on his lap. John was about to look at his watch before Sherlock spoke again, "it's rather late, you shouldn't probably get home."

"Kicking me out?" John smirked, standing up and adjusting his coat collar.

"What on earth gives you that idea?" Sherlock leaned back against the pillows and smiles up at the doctor. John smiled back, enjoying the happiness he could feel from the other man.

"'Night Sherlock," He waved leaving the room. Sherlock gave a small wave back and went on reading his book. John happily strolled down the corridor and out of the exit, breathing in a sigh of relief.

* * *

Trying and failing to concentrate on his book, Sherlock sighed lightly and placed the book back down on his lap. John made him comfortable, happy and safe, made him forget all those bad thoughts and voices that niggled away in the back of his mind.

It was nice to feel sane.

But every time John left, the thoughts would come flooding back, they would just terrorize him constantly, warning him about Joel – he could never forget Joel and it made him shiver. He did love Joel, didn't he?

_No!_

Sherlock mentally cursed, _Joel_ – he had to love Joel. But the man who abused him for so long, that man wasn't Joel; that wasn't _his_ Joel, the one he first met on a case while he was interviewing eye witnesses. The one who he woke up smiling to every morning, the one who ran his fingers through his curly hair whilst watching boring television on a Sunday afternoon; this wasn't that Joel.

His heart ached as he tried to forget him, he couldn't keep living like this, he couldn't constantly get hurt and pretend to be fine, he never wanted to try and kill himself ever again – he didn't want to be that _desperate _for a bloody escape!

The thought terrified him, thoroughly scanning the event, Sherlock couldn't understand just what was going through his head – he remembers feeling dark, collapsed and lost. He also remembers not being able to feel anything at all either, just absolute oblivion.

He had spiralled right down until he couldn't take anymore and that was beyond frightening.

Death itself wasn't something to be scared of, as Sherlock knows himself well enough to say he doesn't _do _fear, it was the thought of just becoming nothing; the thought of Joel winning, the thought of never meeting John.

At this moment in time, he really wanted John by his side. John made everything disappear; John gave him confidence and courage.

John was a good man and Sherlock didn't want to let him go.

* * *

**-screams out of bedroom window- I LOVE MOLLY HOOPER SHE IS SO LOVELY LET ME HOLD HER FOREVER AHHHHH **


	9. Chapter 9

**So, because this is an AU and because of the ~history~ of John, he doesn't have a tiny flat, he has quite a big flat. Just thought I'd clear that up my lovelys ~**

* * *

Smiling contently, John made his way back to his flat. To say he was happy was an understatement, Sherlock made him happy; seeing his smile, hearing his laugh, just being with him made John feel stupidly cheerful.

He knew it was wrong, a doctor should never get too close to their patients, and John really shouldn't get ahead of himself. Sherlock was obviously very sensitive right now, John shouldn't let him know how he felt or it would really make recovery difficult.

Just as John was about to cross the road, he was pulled sideways into an alley and shoved up against the wall by his coat collar. Once his vision became clear, he saw just who he expected it would be; Joel Baits.

"Joel, what a surprise."

"Shut up." He spat, smacking John's back against the wall again. John hissed in pain and tried to struggle himself free from Joel's death grip, "oh you want to fuck around, little man?" He smirked menacingly before throwing John onto the ground.

A groan of pain emitted from John as his back hit the ground with force; he could feel the pain in his leg coming back and that wasn't good during the circumstance.

"Come on, you act all tough in your territory, why not act tough now?" Joel taunted, kicking John harshly in the side.

"Motherfucker," John hissed painfully as Joel landed another kick in his side. It wasn't hard enough to crack a rib but one more kick and it could be. Just as Joel went to kick him again, John rolled over onto his other side and jumped to his feet quickly and swung his fist round, connecting it with Joel's face. The taller man stumbled back a few inches and John looked down at his fist – it'd been a while since he'd had a proper punch up.

Joel came forward to swing his fist at John while he was looking down at his knuckles and suddenly he saw white for a few seconds as he fell backwards, smacking his head forcefully on the concrete below. He shook himself back into action as he pounced at Joel's legs, forcing the other man down as well. John climbed on top of him and punched him as hard as he could around the face. He then grabbed Joel's jacket and pulled him up so his bloodied face was inches from John's,

"Now you fucking listen to me, you waste of fucking space," John started, breathing heavily and trying to keep his voice under control, "you dare come anywhere near Sherlock and I will end you. You understand that or do I need to repeat myself so your tiny fucking brain can comprehend it?"

Joel glared at him as hard as he could with an already swollen eye; he then spat blood in John's face. John rolled his eyes and punched the other man again before standing up and wiping the blood off his face, "don't say I didn't warn you."

As Joel lifted himself to his elbows with a groan of pain, John felt quite satisfied with himself as he walked away, back to his flat so he could clean himself up.

Once he got in, he stumbled through the front door and groaned loudly in agony, his entire body ached furiously. Carefully, he made his way to his bathroom and inspected his wounds on his face. Nothing too serious, he knew that as soon as he saw himself, he would just be very badly bruised for the next few weeks.

Cut and slightly swollen cheek from where Joel had landed a very nasty punch, bruised lip which had dripped blood down his neck and a forming black eye, which wasn't as bad as it could be, but from experience John knew it would get worse before it got better.

He decided a shower was in order, then a cuppa and then off to bed. That fight had exhausted him, it reminded him of the many times he'd gotten into fights as a kid in school and he smiled at the memory.

When he'd showered, he put the kettle on and sat at the kitchen table, looking around the darkened room. When was the last time he opened the curtains in here? Hell, when was the last time he even paid attention to this place? For John, this flat was just a place to sleep, he didn't like spending too much time in it; didn't like to think too much about it.

He and Sophie, his...wife, had looked almost all over London for the perfect place to spend their future together. John said he was content with every place he saw, he really didn't care as long as Sophie was happy. Sophie, however, had sighed and dragged him around all these different flats, pointing out every error, every crack and chip and complained about the price.

Then she stepped into this place and she went silent. John thought she was preparing herself for a rant about the size of the living area or kitchen, but when she turned to John with a wide smile on her face, he saw in her eyes that this was the place she wanted.

So they'd packed up everything they owned, shifted it to the flat and here he was, alone with just the darkness as his company.

The kettle clicked off and John snapped out of his thoughts. He promised himself that he would get upset over Sophie again, there was no point, she wasn't coming back.

John sighed deeply, standing up to pour himself a cup of tea, _could be worse_, he thought, _I could have been killed by that arse_. He then gave a satisfied smile; hopefully that bastard will get the message and stay away from Sherlock. The question was, how exactly was John going to stop Sherlock going back to him? He had nowhere to stay, unless his tosser of a brother wanted to step in and help.

"_Sibling rivalry brings out the worst in us."_

"Sibling rivalry or not, Mycroft, he's your bloody brother. Suck up your damn pride." John muttered to himself. The fact that that man actually had the _nerve _to tell Sherlock he was an embarrassment when the poor bloke just tried to kill himself made John want to slam his head into a wall.

Well, he supposed he could relate in some ways, with Harry drinking herself to death and John not even trying to help her any more – he's done all he can do, what more was there? She promised, she broke her promise and now she has nobody to turn to with her problems; it was all her own fault. Of course if she did wind up dead on a slab, John would never forgive himself, but he knows Harry wouldn't do something like that unless her liver just gave way-

_Stop worrying yourself, Harry will get herself together when she realizes just what she's lost_.

* * *

**Focusing on John because he's adorbs**


	10. Chapter 10

**Hello friends, I'm updating a day early because I won't be updating for at least a week and a half. I'm currently away with my buddies and won't be able to update, sorry -m-**

**Until next time my lovelys! Thank you for all the comments and kudos and I will see you soon!**

* * *

"_What did you see that made you suspicious?" Sherlock asked, leaning back in his chair and eyeing the man in front of him. He was peculiar in the least._

"_How did you know I was suspicious?" The tall, blonde male spoke, his voice soft and questioning. _

"_You wouldn't have come forward as an eye witness if you didn't." _

_The blonde paused and smiled, "you're an observant little shit." _

_Sherlock felt a smile twitching at his lips. "Care to answer my question?" _

"_Well ok." The other man smiled charmingly, "I was walking down the street, right, and I see this cat. I stop and look at it then all of a sudden, I hear this scream so I make my way over to alley where I heard it and boom, there he was, holding her up against the wall. Sick fuck." _

_Sherlock nodded, "I see. So you actually saw him harass her, yes?" _

"_Yeah." The blonde nodded eagerly, "now that you've asked me the questions, can I ask you somethin'?" _

_Sherlock paused, narrowing his eyes. "Yes. Yes I suppose you can." _

"_Would you like to go out sometime?" The other male smiled showing a few teeth in the process. Sherlock felt his heart skip in the most unusual way. _

"_What if I say no?" He leaned forward in his chair, a small smirk playing on his lips._

"_Then I go home alone and sad." The taller man replied. He crossed his arms and lifted his chin at Sherlock who stared at him for a moment. This man was...he was very intriguing; his strong jaw line over powered most of his face, which had very sharp features, but in the handsome way and the tiny bit of stubble on his beard indicated that he wasn't naturally blonde, but brunette. Sherlock smiled at him challengingly, _

"_Then I'll say yes." Sherlock replied feeling his stomach twist excitedly as the blonde male smiled eagerly. _

"_Joel Baits," He held his hand out and Sherlock shook it, _

"_Sherlock Holmes." _

"_A pleasure." Joel smiled, mocking Sherlock's posh accent. _

Sherlock jolted awake, breathing heavily. A flashback? The memory of when he first met Joel? Of course it was. He sat up, feeling restless now. It was the longest sleep he'd had since he first came here and he did feel much better from it, but he couldn't help the sinking feeling in his chest as if something was wrong. Why had he dreamt that? Why did he feel as if something bad was going to happen? Sherlock wasn't superstitious but he couldn't deny how he felt. He sighed and leaned back against the pillows.

He thought about what would happen when he left here. A nurse had come in earlier that morning and told him he was to be discharged later in the week. His little...outburst had set him back a few more days. He wasn't going to get his hopes up for escaping from Joel's grasp, Mycroft and Mother didn't want anything to do with him, he was an embarrassment to the family, Mycroft had said it himself, so that only left John. Once John realized just what a pathetic mess Sherlock was, he would leave him, of course he would, Joel was the only person Sherlock had and was the only person who would take him back; he needed Joel.

Sherlock looked down at his closed fists; everyone was better off without him.

* * *

John headed to work after a long nights rest; he intended to arrive early so he could pop in and see Sherlock before his shift. He knew the man would ask about his bruises but he had a story to cover it up, he didn't want to worry Sherlock about Joel, that's the last thing he needed.

"Afternoon," John smiled walking into Sherlock's room. Sherlock looked up from his book and narrowed his eyes towards the injuries,

"What-"

John lifted his hands up to silence Sherlock, "Just a drunken brawl," John lied.

There was a moment of silence where Sherlock looked as if he calculating John's answer, "that's a lie."

"What makes you say that?"

"The swelling on your head indicates that this was a fight that was clearly intended to seriously injure you," Sherlock began, "by the size of the bruise on your cheek, the height of the man in proportion to his fists would have be around six foot and judging by the accuracy – it is far too accurate to be a drunken brawl, that punch would have missed you if this so called 'drunken brawl' had taken place." He finished.

John stared at him, absolutely astonished. "That was...That was fantastic." He couldn't believe it, saying he was impressed was an understatement.

Sherlock looked confused, "really?"

"_Really?_" John repeated disbelievingly, "how the hell did you do that?"

"I observed," Sherlock looked more than a little bit smug with his impression on John, "it was Joel, wasn't it."

John sighed, _no point in lying now_, "Yes, it was Joel, but don't worry, I think I scared him off."

"You can't scare him off," Sherlock scoffed, "he doesn't scare easily."

"I'll take as many hits as possible to stop him from hurting you." John said truthfully. Sherlock looked at him thoughtfully,

"Why?"

"You don't deserve to be treated that way, people like him are scum."

Sherlock paused and looked as if to be in thought, "thank you." He said finally. John smiled,

"You don't need to thank me, it's the truth." John replied, "You're leaving here sometime this week, aren't you?" Sherlock nodded. John considered his next sentence,

"You can come and stay with me."

"Pardon?" Sherlock looked slightly taken aback,

"I said, you can-"

"I heard you; I just thought that would be unprofessional."

"When you get out of here, I won't necessarily be your doctor anymore." John smiled and stood up, "Think about it," He winked and left the hospital room. He felt like he had accomplished something and he was more than happy to give his bed to someone who needed it. The flat was constantly empty and dark; maybe Sherlock would light it up a bit more.


	11. Chapter 11

**I'm back guys, hi! Hope you didn't miss me **_**too **_**much!**

* * *

Sherlock heard the door open and turned his attention away from the last page in his book. He almost smiled but then decided against it when he saw Mycroft stepping through the door.

"What do you want?" Sherlock glared at him. Mycroft threw an overnight bag of clothes into the chair beside Sherlock's bed,

"I have no interest in discussing where you're deciding to stay."

"Oh good," Sherlock smiled sarcastically and slammed his book. Mycroft stared at him as he pulled clothes out of the bag and began to step out of the bed; he looked back up at Mycroft expectantly, "is that all?"

"That Doctor is rather fond of you, is he not?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and took off his hospital gown so he was only in boxers, "I'm not talking about him with you." He could feel Mycroft's gaze on his bruised body.

"And you are very fond of him."

"Go away Mycroft." Sherlock sighed as he buttoned his jeans.

"You seem uncomfortable, dear brother."

Sherlock finished buttoning up his shirt, "how's the diet?"

Mycroft sighed and grabbed Sherlock's arm, getting his attention, "you might think of this as some sort of game but it isn't, Sherlock, this is reality so start acting your own age and take things more seriously." He said lowly. Sherlock ripped his arm from Mycroft's grip,

"Who the hell do you think you are to tell _me _that?" Sherlock hissed, "Not that it's any of your business, but I'm going to stay with John. Go running back to Mother, Mycroft, isn't that what you always do when I 'misbehave'."

Mycroft seemed surprised, "It _is _my business."

"It wasn't when I was being beaten every night."

Mycroft when silent and looked away; he was defeated in Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock was right; Mycroft didn't want anything to do with him whilst he was with Joel, even when he needed help. Now he's happy, he's safe and Mycroft is deciding to act like a protective brother? Sherlock smirked to himself, how ridiculous.

* * *

The day Sherlock was released from the hospital was luckily one of the days John had off work. John strolled into the hospital and opened the door to Sherlock's room. Mycroft had stopped by and had obviously given Sherlock some clothes, seeing as said man was standing before Mycroft, dressed and giving his brother a deathly glare.

Mycroft turned towards John, a questionable look on his face, "my guess is that-"

"I offered for him to stay with me." John cut in. Mycroft judged him silently with his eyes.

_Well if you weren't going to bloody help him, what other choice did I have? _

"You ready?" John ignored Mycroft and smiled at Sherlock who returned the smile,

"Yes," Sherlock picked the bag of clothes up, "goodbye Mycroft." He sneered and followed John out of the hospital room. John took Sherlock's bag before the man could argue against it and said a few words to the receptionist then signed Sherlock out of the hospital. He had a cab waiting out front for them; he didn't want to make Sherlock walk. It was also raining and John hated the rain.

"You never usually get a cab to the hospital." Sherlock commented climbing into the taxi. John followed suit and gave him a questionable glance,

"How the hell do you know that?"

"The bottom of your work shoes aren't worn away like you've been walking on concrete often, they aren't new either seeing as the laces have been changed four or five times since you've had them, also the backs don't rub meaning they've softened."

"You never cease to amaze me."John laughed lightly; Sherlock just smiled and looked out of the cab window,

"Thank you for this."

"It's no problem, I need the company." John ran a hand through his hair, "Besides, I couldn't just let you go back to that brute."

Sherlock hesitated before speaking, "are you sure about this?"

"Of course I am," John frowned, "what makes you ask that?"

"It's...well, I'm a freak." He said quietly. "I don't want to be a burden."

John shook his head. _Oh Sherlock, _he thought sympathetically. "I'm a freak too," John smiled, "you certainly won't be a burden to me."

He heard Sherlock chuckle softly and resisted the urge to grab his hand. He wondered how his hand would feel in his, how his lips would feel on his and how-

_No John, stop it, not helping. _

John needed to be careful, Sherlock was venerable and John didn't want to confuse him, especially since he was now going to be staying with John.

John's flat was lovely, it had a welcoming sense to it that made Sherlock feel completely safe; just like John. He scanned the living room: spacious and bright, nothing had been changed in the past three years, picture frames were placed on top of the fireplace and Sherlock approached them. They were all of John and a woman, definitely his wife judging by the wedding photo. She was beautiful, long blonde hair with a gentle, freckled face.

"Sorry the place is a bit untidy; I would have done a thorough clean if I had the time." John said stepping through the door. Sherlock spun round from the photos,

"Your wife is beautiful." Sherlock blurted. He felt like hitting himself a thousand times over, why could he never control his mouth?

John paused, a sad look on his face before he smiled and walked forward, picking up a picture frame and looking at it, "yes, I know."

"What's her name?"

"Her name was Sophie." John put the frame back on top of the fireplace with a sad smile.

Sherlock noticed the past-tense usage, "'was'?"

John looked as though he was debating what to say so Sherlock spoke again, "you were divorced, were you not?"

"No, no." John sighed sadly, "Sophie, well...she died."

Sherlock blinked, "how?" he asked without thinking. "No, you don't have to answer, I'm sorry." He said quickly but John chuckled,

"Its fine," He began, "she was diagnosed with cancer three months before we got married. Except, well, she never told me until she was rushed into hospital a week before she passed away."

"That's...I'm sorry." Sherlock was speechless. His stomach churned harshly, like someone was turning a knife slowly and painfully.

"Don't be, she was happy," There was that sad smile again, "she started getting thinner and I just assumed it was a diet – she was mad about slimming down for months – but when she could hardly move, I figured something was seriously wrong. When I called for an ambulance one night, they told me it was cancer." John laughed shortly, "I said, my wife had cancer for seven months and I didn't even know, how bad of a husband am I?"

"Then a week passed, I visited her again on the Monday and she died. During that week, we spoke about everything. The memories we had, our wedding day, you know, the usual stuff. She told me she was happy, she said she wanted me to be happy and didn't want me to find out. I was angry, sure I was, but I loved her, I didn't want to hurt her any more than he was already hurting."

Sherlock saw so much hurt in John's eyes that he just wanted to reach out for him, he couldn't imagine the horror and sadness of having a loved one dying without even knowing, waking up every day and smiling, clueless to their condition. Sophie had obviously made John happy, Sherlock could see by the way his eyes lit up when he spoke about her.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to-" John said quickly, looking down but Sherlock could see the tears in his eyes.

"No, no it's fine," Sherlock stopped John and placed a hand on his arm, John looked back up and their eyes met.

Now, Sherlock could safely say he had never felt such a connection. There was something about John, something strong that made him feel as if he belonged, as if his thoughts about himself were wrong. Looking into John's eyes, right here and now, he felt a shiver and felt his heart beat increase.

"I'd like to hear more about you and Sophie," Sherlock said, "if...if that's all right."

John smiled and wiped at his eyes, "'course it's all right. I'm stronger than I look, I promise you."

Sherlock smiled back at him, feeling brightness spread over him; John was almost perfect.

* * *

**Ahem, well I've just seen this review from a guest on chapter 5 (skipped the email stupidly!) And it's the first criticism I've had on this fanfiction. I thought I was doing a good job, but obviously I haven't. **

**/Firstly, I never intended to insult anybody by writing this and I certainly don't expect people to enjoy the 'torment' that I'm putting John and Sherlock through. I'm writing a scenario based with their characters, why not call up the creator of a soap opera and complain for the same reason, because I'm pretty sure they put their characters in terrible situations for entertainment. Secondly, I apologise if it is out of character, I did say in the first chapter that it was my first time writing something like this, if you don't like it, shut up. Criticism is fine, but don't be an arse about it. **

**And finally, don't **_**you **_**dare tell me what not to involve in my fanfictions. For your information, I have first-hand experience with suicide and rape, not that I have to justify myself to anybody, I would just prefer to clear this up. I've attempted suicide four times in my life and my own mother committed, my cousin was brutally raped and assaulted (my fanfiction Dear God, Please Let Me Be A Bird involves that anecdote and was based off the event), so before you begin to pile on the insults for a fanfiction which was never, **_**ever **_**meant to insult or upset anybody, think about what you're going to say./**

**FIN.**


	12. Chapter 12

A week had passed since Sherlock had moved in and John could not have felt happier. He was right, Sherlock lit the place up a hell of a lot more than opening the curtains ever could. The man was a giant mystery to John, like a tall, curly haired jigsaw puzzle.

He'd come to learn a lot about Sherlock, a few things in his childhood, teenage life and how he had met Joel. John hadn't wanted to ask, but curiosity got the better of him when Sherlock brought it up once. He discovered Sherlock used to be a detective and that he'd lost his job because of Joel. The two had grown closer; Sherlock seemed to trust John a huge amount that he no longer flinched at loud noises or every time John stood up, stretched or even passed by Sherlock.

There was one occurrence that had John feeling anger rise in his body. Sherlock had been making both of them tea when he'd dropped a mug. John quickly got up to see if he was all right and Sherlock had apologised so many times that John lost count, then he proceeded to say how useless and idiotic he was when John had told him it was all okay. John had to grab him by the arms, look him dead in the eye and tell him he wasn't angry and that Sherlock was safe. It boiled John's blood, Joel had caused this and that was the most sickening thing.

John sighed and moved the chess piece forward on the board.

"What are you sighing about?" Sherlock smirked, "checkmate."

John gawped and looked up at Sherlock then back at the board, "what-how-when did your queen get there!?"

"You weren't paying enough attention," Sherlock leaned back in his chair with a cocky smile.

"No, you're mastering the dark arts." John chuckled and stood from his chair, "witchcraft, that's what it is."

"Impossible," Sherlock commented, "witchcraft is-"

"Before you go off on one, I'm going to go and do a little bit of shopping. Do you want to come?"

Sherlock seemed to consider this, "all right." and stood from his chair too.

John grinned, "Good, we don't need much but it's cheaper to go to supermarkets than corner shops."

"That's not entirely true-" Sherlock began as they left the flat, but John zoned out, smiling away and nodding at whatever Sherlock was saying. He was thinking how happy he was, how Sherlock made him feel and he'd never considered going for the same gender, but then again he never liked to think too much into it, it never really bothered John.

They were fifteen minutes from home, taking backstreets and shortcuts, before Sherlock stopped speaking and froze. John stopped and gave him a quizzical look, "what's wrong?"

"Oh fuck me," John heard the voice and rolled his eyes, feeling anger boiling inside him. He turned to see Joel crossing the empty road. "You two hitting it off?"

John stood between Joel and Sherlock, "bugger off."

"Having fun?" Joel ignored John and leaned in as close as he could to Sherlock with John in the way.

"Yes, actually," Sherlock replied, his words clipped.

"I'm real happy for you," Joel sneered, "knew you were nothing but dirt, but to fuck me over for this." He gestured to John and John laughed.

"Do one, tosser."

"Want to say that again?" Joel shouted taking the front of John's jacket in his fists.

Suddenly the taller man stumbled backwards, his mouth agape in shock with a trickle of blood coming from his mouth.

"I don't know whether this is news to you, Joel," Sherlock spat his name,"but you aren't in control of me anymore." Sherlock snarled. John stood with wide eyes, all he saw was a fist fly towards Joel's mouth – it happened so fast. Joel seemed the most shocked as he stared at Sherlock, mouth still slightly open. John could see the blood in between his teeth and covering his tongue. That must have been a powerful punch.

Joel spat at the ground and creased his face in disgust, "you'll come crawling back. He'll get sick of you, 'Lock."

Sherlock scoffed, "give Bethany my condolences for being such a terrible boyfriend." He grabbed John's arm and walked away, his coat flapping dramatically behind him.

When they were far away enough, Sherlock turned to John with a small smile and John laughed, "I bet that felt good."

John felt upbeat, he was, possibly, proud of Sherlock. Honestly, John thought Sherlock would take a long time trying to recover from the psychological effect of abuse but as it turns out, he had already faced and defeated his demons. It was incredible, then again everything about Sherlock was incredible, he was just...yes, incredible.

"Definitely," Sherlock smiled and put his hands in his coat pockets.

John chuckled and felt a rain drop on his face and sighed heavily, "oh Christ, I hate the rain."

"It's only drizzle."

* * *

"'It's only drizzle'." John quoted as they stood under a doorway as the rain poured down; Sherlock let out a short laugh and looked out at the rain,

"At least we found shelter."

"We could have found it sooner, we're both soaked." John looked down at his jacket and back up at the dripping locks of curly hair from the other man. Sherlock looked down at him and John felt his heart race, God he was beautiful with wet hair.

There was a silence before Sherlock broke the eye contact and looked out into the rain, "maybe we could catch a cab."

"Let's find one that will take two soaked men." John laughed, feeling only slightly disappointed. "Uh, Sherlock?"

"Yes, John?" Sherlock asked about to step out from under the doorway.

John hesitated his confession and swallowed his words, "nothing, don't worry."

They stepped out and started walking to the main road before John was stopped by and hand on his shoulder, he turned and a warm pair of lips met his. Hands were on his cheeks and he froze but leaned into the touch once he realized _Sherlock Holmes was bloody kissing him in the pouring rain._

They broke apart after a few moments of kissing and immediately John could see red appearing on Sherlock's face along with a smile.

"I love the rain." John laughed and pulled Sherlock in for another kiss.

* * *

**I want to thank everybody for the support and wonderful reviews; I can't even express how grateful I am. You guys really made me feel so much better ;w; I love writing and you lovely people make it even more enjoyable, thank you all so much, all of your favourites/follows and reviews are so appreciated. I won't let nasty anons get to me; it certainly won't stop me doing the thing I love most. I hope you enjoyed this cheesy, soppy chapter; I tried my best to make it cute! **

**Until next time~ **


	13. Chapter 13

A loud sneeze echoed through the flat and John felt a smile spread across his lips. After they had spent about five minutes kissing in the rain, they decided to bugger the shopping and get home into dry clothes. Unfortunately, Sherlock's immune system wasn't as strong as John's.

"I can't believe you've never been ill before." John chuckled and handed Sherlock a mug of tea.

"It's not that I have _never _been ill, it's just been a very long time since I have." Sherlock said nasally, "Being outside in low temperatures or in wet clothes don't cause a person to develop the flu, it just lowers the immunity of catching illness."

"Interesting," John sat beside Sherlock, "and how do you know that?"

"There's such a thing called 'Science', John."

"You're an arse when you want to be," John smiled and wrapped an arm around Sherlock, pulling him against his side so his head was resting on his shoulder.

They sat in silence watching telly until Sherlock spoke up, "I'm happy with you, John."

John felt his heart beat faster, "I'm happy with you too, Sherlock."

"I feel as if we've known each other longer than we have. I was intrigued the first time I met you, you were..._different._ You still are, you're not dull and single minded like everyone else I know, you're – well – you're John." A hand was covering John's and he smiled, linking his fingers with Sherlock's.

"I'm sorry; I can't take you seriously with a blocked nose." John heard Sherlock chuckle,

"I don't blame you; I can't even take myself seriously."

"You're incredible, though, and I, uh, I never thought I could feel this happy."

John looked down at the man now staring at him and leaned in to kiss him. Those lips felt so brilliant against his but suddenly they were gone and when he opened his eyes, he saw Sherlock sneeze into a tissue and groan in frustration.

"If you would just let me go and get you some cold and flu medicine, you wouldn't be having this problem." John patted Sherlock's back and stood up.

"John, you have already let me into your home, I don't feel comfortable with you going out of your way to-"

"I want to." John said sternly, "you deserve the world for what you've been through and I would be more than happy to get it for you if I could."

Sherlock was quiet, "I'm...I'm not quite sure what to say."

John let his fingers dance through the dark curls of hair and smiled, "you don't have to say anything, except see you in a bit because I'm nipping to the chemist." He planted a kiss on Sherlock's head before grabbing his other coat – his dry coat – and leaving the flat.

* * *

As soon as John left the flat, Sherlock was bored. He felt obliged to go with John but he also felt as if someone had stuffed his head with cotton wool.

"_At least a week's rest," _John had said and given Sherlock a stern look when he'd complained about it, although that didn't stop Sherlock from complaining about it.

Being ill was just atrocious. Were all of these symptoms _really _necessary? The sore throat he could handle, the blocked nose and sneezing he could withstand, but the migraines were what impaired him. He would just innocently be sitting in a chair reading when all of sudden, his vision would brighten and everything would become _too _vibrant. John would help him to bed and stay with him until he was asleep, similar to when Sherlock was in hospital.

There were perks living with a doctor, such as being able to be treated and not having to step foot into that sinister building full of the infected and John must be very good with his hands. Then there were the dull points, where John would force Sherlock to eat and drink regularly, give him various vitamin tablets (and practically shoved them down his throat when he refused), and Sherlock didn't even want to remember the Cod Liver Oil. He shuddered at the memory and sniffed, pulling the warm blanket that smelt like John tighter around himself.

He had been so wrong to think that he couldn't be happy, whether or not he deserved it however...that was a different story. The way he thought Joel now was different, he had noticed how low the other man was, how angry and vile he had become and Sherlock didn't love him like he used to. He wanted to help him more than anything, he wanted to speak to Joel in person and see why he was so hateful and see if there was any chance Sherlock could help him.

What Joel had done _was _forgivable, but there was no chance Sherlock could look at him in the same way. He had John now, he needed to think of John and he needed to show John that he loved him. He didn't want John to think for a single second that Sherlock didn't love him.

A strange sound distracted Sherlock from his thoughts and when he snapped back into reality, he noticed it was the doorbell.

_Strange, John must have forgotten his keys. _Sherlock thought and made his way to the front door. Upon opening it, he didn't see John, he saw a woman. His eyes scanned her, from her fair brown hair to her pointy face then down to her work uniform – _colleague of John's. _

She looked extremely confused to see Sherlock at the door, "hello," she smiled awkwardly, "does John not live here anymore?"

"Yes, he still lives here. He's just gone out actually." Sherlock had no intention of letting her in, she looked very judgemental.

"Oh, well, he was speaking to me about taking a week off work and I came to see if he's alright. By the looks of it, he's not the one that's ill." She chuckled but Sherlock didn't see the humour in his misfortune. Her chuckling came to a slow stop and she looked down awkwardly, "Sorry, who are you?"

Sherlock saw John jog across the road, "Sarah!" John called with a smile, "sorry, if you would have called I would have been in."

"Don't worry about it," She smiled and John shot Sherlock a glance, in other words, telling him to put the kettle on because they weren't getting out of this conversation.

Sherlock was aware of 'Sarah', but he had never met her until now. John had spoken about her briefly in the hospital, mentioning how rude and inconsiderate she was to others and how she was very 'in your face' – as John put it. He took his time taking mugs out of the cupboard and making the tea, Sarah would probably be here for hours so why should he rush?

John appeared behind him in the kitchen and handed him three different packs of cold&flu tablets, "we'll see which ones work best." He smiled and took a bottle of cough medicine out of the chemist bag, "and this stuff is supposed to help a lot."

"Thank you," Sherlock smiled and opened the bottle; he sniffed it and immediately grimaced, holding it at arm's length from the strong smell. "Good God,"

John laughed, "it's not that bad," and he took the bottle from Sherlock and sniffed it, also creasing his face in disgust but laughing soon after, "okay, maybe it is." He said, his voice strained, "Jesus, what _is_ this?"

There was a moment of laughter and Sherlock could see Sarah trying to peer through the kitchen doorway discreetly from her seat on the sofa. The kettle clicked off and John finished making the tea, allowing Sherlock to take a few tablets and forcing him to swallow three teaspoons of that God awful cough medicine. He recoiled at the smell each time and John had to almost chase him around the kitchen table to get him to take the last spoonful.

"_It's disgusting and the only effect it's having on me is the inability to keep it in my stomach." _

"_I will put it in your tea so help me Sherlock." John threatened_, soon enough Sherlock gave in. It only took them fifteen minutes to make the tea, and when they both came into the living room; Sarah looked impatient and very unimpressed.

* * *

"So," She began when they both sat down, "you're taking a week off work to look after..."

"My, uh, roommate, Sherlock," John smiled quickly and sipped his tea.

"Roommate?" Sarah nodded, glancing at Sherlock, "Hmm, so roommate _and _friend?"

"Uh, yes- yeah."

"So, definitely not the Sherlock Holmes who was in your section in the hospital, not him?"

John paused, "Ah." Sarah was going to go ballistic if she found out they were going out.

"And boyfriend." Sherlock input with an extremely fake smile. John's breath caught in his throat and he sighed inwardly, _oh my God Sherlock. _

Sarah's looked as if she couldn't quite form an actual sentence, her mouth opened and closed various times before she turned her head to the right slightly, "sorry?"

"Uh, Sherlock and I are..."

"You're gay?" Sarah asked abruptly.

"No, no." John said quickly, "actually, I don't know- does it even matter?"

"Uh, it does matter." Sarah looked very, _very _pissed off, "you went on various dates with me and didn't even think to tell me. Not to mention you had a _wife_."

"We went out once Sarah and you shouted at a lesbian couple for God's sake!"

"Because I was _trying _to eat my meal and all I could hear was their dirty mouths slapping together!" Sarah shot up from her chair, "he's your patient, John, you know you can't-"

"Now I see it." Sherlock muttered to himself and John and Sarah turned to him.

"Excuse me?" Sarah asked, flustered from the argument.

"Oh, I was just wondering why your husband could have left you and two out of three points remained until I noticed the tattoo on your hip from where your blouse lifted as you stood."

John looked down and smiled when Sarah stared at Sherlock, eyes wide, "how did you-?"

"A small section of your ring finger is paler than your hand, obviously you've been wearing your wedding ring out for some sort of sentimental reasoning, secondly your tattoo, classic heart with a name, obviously not your husband's because it's faded quite a fair amount and you've only been unhappily married for...one, maybe two years, so in conclusion, he separated from you when discovering the tattoo of your ex-lover's name on your hip. Quite a silly reason, really, but all fair, wouldn't you agree John?" Sherlock turned his head to John and honestly, John tried his best not to smile and just grab the other man into an embrace.

Sarah blinked a few times and looked to John, then back at Sherlock, "are you some sort of stalker?" She snatched up her handbag.

"I've pointed out all of the evidence, what on earth made it a possibility for me to be a stalker?"

Sarah shook her head in disbelief and John stood up, "I'll walk you out." He smiled and lead Sarah to the front door, seeing the smug look on Sherlock's face as he walked passed.

"How did he do that?" Sarah asked before leaving.

John shrugged, "honestly, I have no idea. He's a genius."

Sarah nodded and looked out into the street then back at John, "right. Call me in the week and I'll, uh, I'll tell you when you're next working."

"Thank you," John smiled and watched as Sarah crossed the road.

Stepping back into the living room, he looked towards Sherlock and crossed his arms, "I cannot believe you just showed up my boss."

Sherlock shrugged, "you loved it really."

"I did, I bloody did you cocky shit." John lifted Sherlock's chin and kissed him, "how the hell did I ever get so lucky?" He whispered against Sherlock's lips.

"I could ask the same thing." Sherlock smiled and their lips met again.

* * *

**In case some of you don't know, Cod Liver Oil is fucking vile and I hate it with a passion. It's basically oily shit that's really good for you, my mum used to give it to me when I was unwell. Literally, she would shove a tablespoon of oil into my mouth, force my head back until I swallowed it and then she would give me chocolate covered strawberries afterwards, so it was all okay.**

******I want to thank a reviewer (I can't remember who so if you're reading this, sorry!) for giving me the idea of Sarah getting riled up about the relationship between John and Sherlock in a review, so thank you! **


	14. Chapter 14

**Sorry for the delay, the crappy laptop deleted all of my documents (coughmydadisadickfacecough) so as you can imagine, I had to re-write this entire chapter out. **

* * *

Sherlock could hear a buzzing coming from the bedside table but decided to ignore it, snuggling back into the warmth of John's body. He drifted into another sleep until the buzzing continued, so in frustration, he sat up gently trying not to disturb John, and reached over for his phone. Looking at the caller ID, he felt a brief twist in his stomach. The phone continued to vibrate as he held it, staring down at the screen as it did so.

When it finally stopped ringing, he still stared at the phone in his hands, anxiety slowly rushing over him, which was an unfamiliar feeling to him. He jumped when he felt John's hand on his arm, "are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Sherlock said quickly, placing the phone back on the table. He could feel John staring at him, expecting a decent explanation. "It was one of those insurance companies, I could tell by the first four digits." He lied.

John soon gave in and nodded, rubbing his eyes, "I hate those companies," he commented, "people get paid to piss other people off, what is this world coming to?"

"It's mayhem." Sherlock yawned and he felt John's hand stroking his hair, he leaned into the touch. Mornings were perfect with John, waking up see his face was so relaxing. Sometimes Sherlock forgot where he was while he was asleep, he'd assume he was still at Joel's and would panic, waking up suddenly to find himself wrapped in blankets and John's arms around him.

They lay in bed for a few more minutes before finally deciding to get up. "We actually need to do some shopping." John said.

Sherlock groaned and fell back against the mattress, "I'm not obliged to move, I'm ill."

"You still have to take that medicine."

Sherlock paused, "actually I'm feeling much, much better."

John snickered and helped Sherlock up from the bed, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's waist and pulling him in for a kiss.

"You're going to catch my cold," Sherlock murmured again John's lips.

"Well I guess I should stay away from you." John smiled playfully and moved away from Sherlock, who in return, seized John by his waist and pulled him against his body again.

"Sharing is apparently caring," Sherlock smiled, breathing in John's scent.

Then the buzzing from Sherlock's phone began again and John sighed, "Those damn phone companies."

Sherlock hummed, _must be something serious for him to keep calling._

* * *

The both of them had _finally_ gone shopping and John soon found out that Sherlock wasn't difficult to shop for, he had various opinions on types of foods but anything John liked, he liked. With a satisfied sigh, John finished packing away what they had bought; he turned to see Sherlock fighting with the medicine cupboard.

"They're not going to fit." He finally decided, throwing four packs of paracetamol onto the table. "I don't like to stereotype, but you fit the category of 'doctor' very well."

John rolled his eyes and nudged Sherlock out of the way, moving a few boxes of tablets around before placing the paracetamol into a slot. "There. You just shoved everything in, no wonder they wouldn't fit."

"I'm not fond of organisation." Sherlock crossed his arms in defence,

"I realised." John chuckled, then suddenly things began to fall out of the cupboard and Sherlock laughed, it made John jump to hear the full blown laugh from the other man, "oh shut up," He smiled and looked down at the tablets spilled out over the floor, he sighed and bent down to pick them up. Sherlock helped him, but John saw the way he froze when his hand hovered over the pot of aspirin. He recovered quickly and picked it up, placing it on the kitchen counter and said nothing.

John wanted to speak, but he didn't know what to _say_. It wasn't that he was scared of Sherlock overdosing again, well...he worried that something might trigger him to do it again; you never fully recover from something like that. For a moment, he wondered briefly if he shouldn't be keeping so many tablets with Sherlock around, however, he knew Sherlock would notice straight away if he was keeping pills from him. John trusted Sherlock, but he knew what it was like to get into such a dark mindset that what you do has no consequences.

After they had disposed of the spilt pills, John made himself and - a very quiet – Sherlock tea before sitting down and relaxing into the sofa. It was literally five seconds until his mobile started ringing.

_What now? _He sighed and dished his phone out of his pocket.

"Hello?"

_"Hi John, its Sarah," _

_Oh brilliant,_ John thought, "oh Sarah, what is it?"

_"There's someone here to see you, they asked if I could get you in." _

John paused and sat forward, "who?"

_"Hold on a second," _Sarah must have asked because there was a muffling down the receiver, _"A detective inspector from Scotland Yard." _

"Right..." John glanced at Sherlock who was, by now, staring at him. "Right, I'll be there in a minute."

He hung up and stood from his spot, "I need to nip into work quickly, shouldn't be too long."

Sherlock nodded and sipped his tea, he was oddly quiet, usually John would have had to deal with his ranting about the terrible TV program that was on.

"You okay?" John asked shrugging on his coat,

"Yes, of course," Sherlock smiled quickly,

"All right," he replied checking his pockets, "call me if you need anything, okay?"

"I'll be fine. Go, the public need you."

John rolled his eyes and left the flat. He was wary about leaving Sherlock alone right now, but he would literally only be a couple of minutes, unless this _Detective Inspector_ was going to take a while. Why would somebody from the police want to speak to him? He didn't want to question it on the phone because Sherlock was sitting right beside him.

_It could be Joel_, John thought, but why would he get the police involved when Sherlock and John had enough evidence to prove the domestic abuse that was going on? It didn't make sense. John snapped out of his thoughts when he walked into the reception and saw Sarah speaking with, who he assumed was, the detective inspector. He was an average looking man, not really one that would usually stand out in a crowd, John felt like applauding him on his ability to pull off the grey hair.

"John," Sarah forced a smile, "this is Inspector Lestrade."

John and this 'Lestrade' exchanged introductions with a firm handshake before heading into John's office.

"So, a detective inspector, I hope I'm not being charged for some sort of murder." John smiled quickly, sitting at his desk.

Lestrade sat opposite him with his lips quirked into a slight smile, "no, definitely not. I would have slapped the cuffs on before shaking your hand."

They shared a moment of humour before Lestrade cleared his throat, "Yeah, I'm um, I'm here to speak about Sherlock Holmes."

Then it clicked in John's head. _Detective Inspector...Of course, Sherlock used to be a detective! _

"I wanted to offer him his job back."

John pondered the thought, "Why did you fire him in the first place?"

"He pretty much destroyed official police documents and because of that, three women were murdered."

"So...now you've decided that wasn't so serious?" John asked, feeling anger boiling his blood. He could imagine Sherlock being such a brilliant detective, it must have been tough being fired from a job that you enjoyed – Sherlock had made it perfectly clear how much he enjoyed 'deducing'. John still thought it was black magic, for comical purposes.

"It was serious, I stuck my neck out on the line for him, but we need him."

"And, let me guess, you want me to convince him to come back because he's too stubborn to answer your calls?"

Lestrade nodded and ran a hand through his hair, "I've been trying to get a hold of him for almost a week now, I finally find his address and then I find out he's moved out, and then I get his phone number and he doesn't pick up. So, I asked around someone mentioned you."

John shuffled in his chair, "Right," he thought for a moment. If Sherlock lied to him about the calling, of course he didn't want John knowing, and if John burst into the flat asking him why he didn't want to go back to doing what he enjoyed, that wouldn't help. But it was probably the only way, "I'll talk to him, give me your number and I'll be in touch if he changes his mind."

Lestrade gave a relieved sigh, "thank you." He handed John his card and shook his hand again, "if he doesn't want to come back, let him know that...well, I'm sorry."

John nodded with a small smile and walked Lestrade out, suddenly bumping into Molly. "Oh, god, sorry!" She looked up at Lestrade with an apologetic smile.

Now, John wouldn't call himself a matchmaker, but he could feel a buzz from the two when they looked at each other.

"It's all right." Lestrade smiled awkwardly at Molly. When John cleared his throat, they broke eye contact and Molly apologized again, walking off down the corridor. Lestrade looked back to John and shook his hand, "I'll hopefully speak to you soon."

John nodded, "yeah- yeah hopefully."

He watched as Lestrade strolled down the corridor and through the double doors, then his eyes moved to the clock in his office and he sighed, _that took longer than it should have_.

John quickly locked his office door and made his way to the exit; he hoped Sherlock was all right.


	15. Chapter 15

John had left quickly - of course he would - he shouldn't have to deal with Sherlock's pathetic emotions. He remembers the feeling of the darkness swallowing him up when he had overdosed, the high of feeling of being so...free, so expectant of death but waking up in a white room, gowned and full of tubes.

When he had seen those tablets, he had never wanted to recoil so badly in his life; to just burn himself alive, to rip his own skin off at just remembering how dull his mindset had become the day he wanted to take his own life. The tablets were a reminder of the distant him, the one who got pushed and shoved, punched and kicked – raped- because he just wasn't _good enough_-

And as soon as he begins to feel just that little bit _good enough_, he's reminded that he isn't and that he'll never be. It's rather melodramatic and unneeded, so perhaps Sherlock should just shut it all away and pretend as if he had never suffered months of abuse and tried to end his own life. Of course it's not that simple, because nothing ever is; simple is just a proportion of something difficult, like the middle of a spider web – tiny enough, _simple_, but viciously destructive on other insects, making it become..._difficult._

Sherlock had become part of this web. He was caught in the middle, stuck there like a worthless fly, never managed to get out and soon, the spider – the problems – had wrapped him up, smothered him and taken him down piece by piece.

This is where he was. Debating his existence on his lover's sofa, cold tea in hands, wondering when that pit of darkness will come back and devour him whole.

When Sherlock was alone, his demons faced him like a pack of hungry wolves. They waited in the back of his mind until John left, until he was forced to remember the clawing sensation of depression. It was sickening how they attacked him when he was alone, crawling up beside him and begging him to remember just how unimportant he was.

John made it disappear, not all of it, but most of it. He was distracted with John – had a reason to be happy, to feel as if he was worth something. Among everything he knew about the psychological torment of abuse, he couldn't help but deny the compliments thrown his way, the way John told him he was 'fantastic' and 'extraordinary' – the complete opposite of what Sherlock thought – even if Sherlock knew that what he thought of himself was wrong, it was instinct to think that he wasn't worth anything. The weeks (months, years?) to come of recovery were going to be difficult, because when you become self-aware of what you're constantly feeling and thinking, you see the techniques that people use on you to help you, you see _everything_.

And seeing everything doesn't help.

So he was hopeless, he was lost and honestly? He was terrified.

Fear was something uncommon, almost unknown to Sherlock. It was unnecessary in life, _'do not let your fears rule you.' _Mycroft told him when he was seven; thinking man-sized spiders were under his bed.

So Sherlock didn't let his fears rule him, he faced his fears, he tracked down the knowledge behind his fear and snatched it up, refusing to let it bother him. If he was entirely honest, that was the only piece of advice he had ever taken to heart from Mycroft.

The fear he held most now was from his own mind, basically meaning he was scared of himself.

Unstable would be the word he would use if it were someone else, but seeing as it's his own mindset and he knows just what he's thinking, it would be necessary to use. Although, it would be. But it wouldn't.

He frowned, what was he thinking? He should stop thinking; it was only making things worse. He looked over at the clock, waiting for John was becoming annoying.

As if on cue, he heard the front door open. The way John was walking was somewhat troublesome, rushed but contained – he has some sort of news. Sherlock wondered what it could be.

* * *

John had gotten back to the flat in less than five minutes by foot, which was a record for him, and when he walked in, Sherlock hadn't moved from his spot on the sofa. John felt relief rush over him.

"You have news." Sherlock said, looking over at John.

John felt a smile on his lips, "yeah, I do." He shrugged off his coat and sat beside Sherlock, "A detective inspector came into my office today."

Sherlock visibly froze, his eyes not leaving John's vision. "He said he's been trying to call you."

Then Sherlock looked away, swallowing hard. "What did he want?" He asked quietly.

"I think you know."

"I don't want to talk about this."

John paused, "why not?" This wasn't exactly a touchy subject...was it?

Sherlock didn't reply so John wrapped an arm around his shoulder and pulled him closer, "Sherlock, please talk to me."

"Lestrade fired me, why does he want me back?" Sherlock rested his head on John's chest.

"Well, he said he fired you because you 'destroyed official police documents', but now he's saying he needs you." John felt Sherlock tense beside him and when John went to reach for his hand, he flinched and moved away from him.

"Sherlock?" John asked warily, looking at the distressed man beside him.

"I didn't mean to do it, I just- he wanted...I-" Sherlock stammered quietly and put his head in his hands, breathing deeply.

Now John was worried, he waited for Sherlock to calm down before reaching out to comfort him, but the other man recoiled from his movement. John had a feeling he knew why.

"What happened?" John questioned lowly, keeping a fair distance between him and Sherlock.

Sherlock's eyes were dark when he lifted his head from his hands, he leaned back and placed a hand on his forehead before speaking, "I said I didn't want to, I denied him sex and he poured coffee over the files." He replied finally, "He pushed me to the floor and he forced himself on me."

John felt his heart sink as he heard the emotion in Sherlock's voice. "It was the first time he..." Sherlock trailed off, glancing over at John in the corner of his eye, "I couldn't tell Lestrade, so instead I told him that I did it."

Sherlock looked highly anxious, like as if he spoke of the event Joel would be summoned. Then the anger came, John could feel it pinching his skin, he clenched his jaw and looked away from Sherlock's gaze. _That fucking son of a bitch. _

That sick bastard got away with so much, he had _destroyed _the man John loved and it constantly taunted him. Joel had stopped the thing Sherlock had loved doing most.

"I'm sorry," Sherlock mumbled. John snapped out of his thoughts and turned to Sherlock again,

"Don't you dare apologize for what he did," He said firmly, laying a hand gently over Sherlock's. He was relieved when Sherlock didn't flinch at the movement, but instead moved closer to John again and rested his head back on his chest, relaxing into John. "You don't have to worry about him anymore; he's not going to hurt you ever again." He planted a kiss on Sherlock's head.

John meant it.

* * *

**I should probably say I have no idea how many chapters are left, maybe about 2 or 3. **


	16. Chapter 16

**Hello uvu ~**  
**I'm just here to say that I now have a laptop and I'm able to edit my fanfictions on-the-go too! This is a WIP so I'm not sure how long I'm going to continue this, I think there might be three or four chapters left, but that's just a rough estimate.**

**Anyway, enjoy my lovelys! ~**

**(oh, and the story isn't going to stay soppy for long, so savor it while you can...)**

* * *

The afternoon had passed quickly with just the two of them seated on the sofa, enjoying each other's company. John was deep in thought and not necessarily watching the programme on the telly, he said he would let Lestrade know about Sherlock's decision about going back. John could see how hard it would be to go back after what had happened, how it would possibly cause issues to arise with Sherlock, like the paranoia.

They hadn't really spoken anymore about it and John didn't want to push on, so he decided to just let Sherlock answer in his own time.

"I'll go back." Sherlock spoke up suddenly. John looked down at the curly locks on his shoulder,

"What's that?"

"I'll go back to work." Sherlock looked up at John with a hint of a smile on his face.

"Are you sure?"

"There's no point in me being unemployed when I have the skill to work."

"Not very modest are you?" John chuckled,

"Modesty is just shy vanity," Sherlock commented with a yawn.

John stretched with a groan when Sherlock rose up from the sofa, "right, I better get to bed; I've got work in the morning. Sarah's given me extra shifts because some intern got his fingers cut off."

"An intern had an injury in an accident and emergency department?"

"Well, he didn't need to go very far to get it sorted."

Sherlock chuckled and helped John stand up, catching him in an embrace. Their eyes met and John felt his heart race as Sherlock leaned in, kissing him passionately. The kiss deepened, their bodies coming closer together, Sherlock leading the intimacy.

The feeling was immaculate on its own, Sherlock's lips and body against his, the heat between them felt like it would melt John. John took the lead, gently lowering Sherlock back onto the sofa, feeling the other arch into his touch underneath him. Then the realization dawned on John and he pulled away, hating to face the look of confusion on Sherlock's face.

"I don't think..." John debated his next words, "it's a good idea."

Sherlock looked hurt and John inwardly winced, although Sherlock might say its fine, it could really damage his recovery if he acts things out too soon. John knows this as a doctor; he's seen the way rape effects people in every shape and form, even if Sherlock was this fantastic super genius, he was still a victim.

"I don't understand," Sherlock frowned, "I want to."

"Yes, but it's too soon." John sat up, "also, I have work tomorrow."

Sherlock nodded silently, sitting up too. Only when John stood up did he speak, and they weren't the words John wanted to hear.

"Am I repulsive?"

"Why would you be repulsive?" John asked with a frown.

"You didn't my question." Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

"You didn't answer mine."

Sherlock sighed and looked away, John guessed he wasn't going to reply so he sighed too, "You're not repulsive; I just don't think it's a good idea to rush things."

"We're not rushing anything."

"Yes, we are." John sat beside Sherlock, "I don't want to argue with you about this."

"Why, are you reminded of how _damaged _I am?" Sherlock spat.

John swallowed hard, "no- no, what the hell are you saying?"

"It's obvious enough," Sherlock remarked quietly and John could feel himself losing his temper.

"Not obvious enough for me."

"I knew that sooner or later you would-" Sherlock went silent, his eyes averted from John's angry gaze.

John waited for a reply but nothing came, just the empty silence between them. What was Sherlock talking about? Sooner or later John would what? Get bored of him? If that was the case then Sherlock didn't know John all too well-

No, no. It's just the anger speaking. This was hard for Sherlock, being in a..._normal _relationship, of course there were things he would think, things that were nailed into his brain from being made to think them.

"Sherlock, when you were in hospital, I never wanted to leave your side, I wanted to just wrap you up and take you away from everything. I still want to now, and I reckon that that feeling will never change. You are the best thing that's happened to me in a while and God forbid anything that takes you away from me." John admitted quietly, "I don't want us to rush into things head first, I don't want to hurt you or make you feel that, well, that you can't trust me."

It took a few moments for Sherlock to finally look at John, the silence was so unbearable that John wished he would say something, even if it was him telling John to shut up or go away – well, John hoped that wasn't what he would say, but anything was better than this.

Sherlock's gaze was heavy; John couldn't quite establish what he was thinking, his face was just...blank. Then suddenly John was caught in an embrace, it took him a few seconds to realise that Sherlock had wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close.

John slowly returned the embrace, wrapping his arms gently around Sherlock's slim figure and slipping a hand through the other's hair. Nothing was said, and even though the silence would have been considered odd before, it was now comforting for John, knowing that nothing more needed to be said.


	17. Chapter 17

**Seeing as the last chapter was only 800 or so words long, I decided to write out another one and upload it today .w. ! Enjoy ~**

* * *

The curling sensation in his stomach rippled through his thoughts and he tried to distinguish the emotion, perhaps it was lack of sleep causing him to unevenly think. He buttoned the cuff of his dress shirt, looking into the mirror nervously-

Nervously?

Why was he nervous?

Oh. Beginning of a new era, the end of a tragic tale, he was supposed to move on and forget his problems – move on and go back to Scotland Yard. Oh indeed, it was tiring being so uninspired to do things, perhaps the work would help him. Honestly, could anything make him worse?

He clenched his jaw, forbidding those thoughts. Sherlock wasn't _worse_. He had John, and John was enough. Both of them had suffered a fair amount of tragedy, too much for one man to handle, and here they both were, living together under the same roof.

Sherlock wasn't complaining – of course he wasn't, he was _happy_.

It had occurred to Sherlock that perhaps John wasn't all he seemed, that he would see that Sherlock wasn't worth anything and leave, even if that little voice in Sherlock's head told him that that wasn't going to happen, he couldn't help that dark feeling of desperation when John gazed over at the picture of Sophie. It wasn't jealously, it was desperation because Sherlock knew he would never be the one John truly fell for.

Sherlock had thought John would get bored of him,it was a known fact that it happened to a majority of couples so what's the off chance it would happen to him? It wasn't _only _that, Sherlock had extremely strong feelings to John and failed to show them, he didn't want John thinking for a single second that Sherlock didn't love him any less than he did a day ago.

_Love? _Was this about love? Of course it was. Sherlock felt a small smile tug at his lips; he loved John.

The feeling of John's arms around his waist slipped a smile onto his face; he leaned into the touch and held onto the arms around him. John was a barrier of sorts, even when he didn't mean to he had protected Sherlock from the various stinging thoughts that plagued him – John had practically saved his life, and not just by being a doctor.

"First day back," John murmured into Sherlock's shoulder, "nervous?"

"_Please_," Sherlock chuckled, "nervous doesn't suit me."

"But that shirt does," John squeezed him, breathing in deeply before popping his head onto Sherlock's shoulder, looking at him through the mirror. "Oh," John said and was suddenly gone, darting out of the room.

Sherlock suddenly felt cold from the loss of John's arms, as ridiculous as it sounded.

When John returned, he was holding a letter and he handed it to Sherlock, "This came for you this morning."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows in surprise, "who sent it?"

John shrugged, "open it and find out."

Sherlock eyed the envelope carefully, scanning the stamp, the writing and the wax print on the back. He noticed the design of the print and turned the envelope back over, looking back at the writing. Of course, who else would hand write him a letter? Sherlock rolled his eyes and opened the envelope, skimming through the fake concerns and motherly advice before rolling his eyes again and scrunching the letter up. John gave him a questioning look.

"From mother," Sherlock glared at the piece of scrunched up paper, hoping his eyes would set it on fire. "Nothing of importance."

John nodded slowly before pausing, "so...you're not going to bother replying?"

Sherlock grimaced, "God no. That _woman _can drink snake venom for all I care."

How dare she write to Sherlock, offering an afternoon at her '_palace_'?

'_I've heard about your new partner, John Watson. I also hear he's a doctor and would be glad to meet him.' _

To hell with them.

"Sherlock, she's your mum, you can't just ignore her forever."

What was John not understanding about this? Sherlock's mother didn't care enough to help him before, why the hell should he trust her again? Why should he begin to even _consider_ trusting that wench and her eight legged minion _Mycroft_ after they didn't bother with him before?

"She doesn't even fit the description of a 'mother'." Sherlock muttered.

John took the letter from Sherlock's hands and uncreased it, blinking in surprise at the ridiculously neat and curly hand writing. After a moment of skimming through it, John looked back up at Sherlock with pursed lips, "she says she wants to meet me."

"Of course she wants to meet you, one mention of something important in my life that's remotely interesting to her and she sends in Mycroft."

John obviously tried to contain a smile at the mention of 'something important', but then his expression fell into one of an annoyed doctor. "Either way, I think it would be nice."

Sherlock took a moment to comprehend that. He looked towards John and stared at him until the other man shifted uncomfortably under the gaze. If John couldn't handle a stare for a few seconds then he really wouldn't be able to handle Sherlock's mother.

"What?" He asked finally.

"'Meeting' is not the way to describe it." Sherlock began, "she won't shake your hand and say hello, she will stare you down until you crumble under her venomous glare soon interrogating you, causing you to fall straight into her filthy hands where she will squeeze you and squeeze you and squeeze you until there is nothing left."

John finally breathed in after a tense sixteen seconds were up. He rubbed the back of his neck, obviously flushed (although Sherlock didn't know _why_) and cleared his throat, "right, well...she sounds lovely. I'm free Sunday."

"Did you not listen to a word I just said?"

"No, because frankly I think it's bollocks." John smiled quickly and folded the letter in his hands.

Sherlock frowned at him, feeling just a little bit insulted. "I think I know my own mother."

"And I don't, so I want to meet her." John moved Sherlock out of the way and placed the letter in a drawer, glancing at the picture of Sophie on the desk. "Let Mycroft know we'll be over Sunday."

Sherlock was about to protest until John shot him a look that basically said '_know when you have lost'_, so instead Sherlock sighed, "Fine."

John smiled, "Good, now you need to get to the Yard."

Sherlock nodded quickly, "yes...I do."

John obviously sensed his 'nervousness' and approached him, wrapping him in his arms and pulling him close, "you'll be fine."

"Of course I'll be fine, I've done this before." Sherlock murmured, resting his head on John's shoulder.

"Want a kiss for good luck?" John chuckled,

Sherlock tutted, pulling back to look down at John, "do you honestly believe that a kiss can-" But his words were stopped as a soft pair of lips pressed against his. He didn't protest against them, kissing back slowly – deeply.

John's lips just felt so amazing; Sherlock just couldn't understand why they felt so right against his. No matter how much he thought about it. Maybe not all things were set to make sense, and that's the thought he had stuck with.

"Good luck," John smirked against Sherlock's lips, pulling the scarf from the arm of the chair and wrapping it gently around Sherlock's neck.

"Suddenly I don't want to leave." Sherlock chuckled lowly, placing his hands over John's.

"Go, you're already late as it is."

Sherlock sighed dramatically and grabbed his coat, "won't be back too late." He threw over his shoulder heading to the door, but then he paused.

_Should I? _

"John," It sounded more questionable than he planned it to sound and John's face turned concerned,

"Yes?"

Sherlock grasped his coat tightly in his hands, "never-mind," _it's too soon._ "Goodbye."

And he left before John could reply.


	18. Chapter 18

**Internet's been down and starting college has been busy, sorry! **

* * *

John's smile didn't leave his face, even after Sherlock had left. He was just so extraordinarily happy, he hadn't felt this happy in years. Just to know that someone cared about him and he had someone to care about felt unbelievably comforting. It was all so strange, almost surreal just because it had been so long since John was this settled.

Seeing as he wasn't due in for work until the evening, John decided to visit Sophie during his free time.

He got a cab to the cemetery, which wasn't that far but he didn't really feel like getting the bus or walking. It took him about fifteen minutes to get there, which was good considering traffic on a Wednesday morning; he wondered how Sherlock was doing, if he should text him or if he should just leave him.

In the end, John texted him while making his way around the cemetery.

_How is it, arrested any murderers yet? _

_JW x_

John smiled briefly, putting the phone back in his pocket. It had been too long since he'd visited Sophie, it was a selfish gesture for him to make not going to see her every day and God he felt awful about it, but he was sure Sophie would understand.

"Morning love," John smiled down at the gravestone, "sorry it's been so long."

There was no reply, why would there be? Even if she didn't speak back, John would imagine her words in his head, her smile and her voice.

"I've, uh, I've found someone. His name is Sherlock and, well, I haven't felt this way about someone since I met you." John started, feeling tears creep up on him already, "he's been through hell and back and I'm hoping to make a difference in his life, I'm hoping to prove to him that he means so much to me." He wiped at the tears, "I feel as though we were meant to meet, we just connect so much. Like you and me," John inhaled sharply, "I miss you so much. So, so much, and I...God, I don't know, I just wish I could I could hold you one last time."

_'John, stop crying you wuss.' _Sophie's voice called out in his head, _'You mean the world to me, I want you to know that. I'm happy you've moved on and I hope you live the rest of your life with this man, stop grieving over me; we had our time and it's gone. You're stronger than this.' _

John nodded, "You're right, as always." He chuckled, "I love Sherlock, I know I love him like I love you. I just hope he knows that."

_'He does. I love you, John.'_

Smiling, John placed his hand on the gravestone, "I love you too."

* * *

John had received a reply to the text as soon as he got back to the flat. He smiled at the reply,

* * *

_'Dull. Everyone is so stupid. We're currently discussing a murder, which is so ridiculously transparent that I'm surprised nobody has spotted the actual suspect. _

_SH x_

* * *

_Typical Sherlock._ Of course under that annoyed stance, Sherlock was really enjoying himself. It didn't really strike John as odd that Sherlock was so interested in crimes, it was nice to see Sherlock get so excited over something; John had never really seen the other so indulged in something until he had changed the channel over to a program about unsolved mysteries and crimes.

* * *

_Not everyone can be as brilliant as you._

_JW x_

* * *

_I know. _

_SH x_

* * *

John shook with his with a smile.

_Modesty is just shy vanity_ – Indeed it is.

* * *

Sherlock knew who the murderer was, it was far too obvious for him to miss – the finger prints had been wiped clean off the knife but the specific angle of the knife wound showed just how it had been held and how difficult it must have been for the killer to hold it with such small hands.

Yes, the killer was the adopted son.

Lestrade had stared at him when he had pointed it out, then he had proceeded to ask exactly what Sherlock was 'playing at' on his first day back. Sherlock had sighed loudly, listing off the evidence, and that had shut Lestrade up straight away.

It was distracting being back at work, Sherlock enjoyed not having to think about anything other than what he enjoyed, although sometimes he would drift off and wonder how John was doing and sometimes he would get so infuriated with everyone that he just wanted John by his side.

Luckily, Lestrade finally decided that Sherlock's theory could possibly be correct and told him he was able to go home, to which Sherlock had no problem with. He felt as though he had spent enough time away from John and just wanted to wrap his arms around the other man. Whether or not that sounded plain ridiculous, Sherlock didn't care.

It was a fine string of chance that made him cross paths with Joel when he had left the Yard. Joel had stopped and stared at him, and God did he look awful. Sherlock eyed him, knowing the other man was going to talk.

"Back at your old job then?" Joel shoved his shaking hands into his pockets.

_Drug addict. _Sherlock should have known that Joel would go back to his old ways, heroin was not an easy drug to forget.

"Yes." Sherlock replied shortly. He should have just walked away, just stopped this conversation before it carried on and turned into something else.

Joel chewed his lip, fixating his eyes onto Sherlock after moments of looking around, "I'm sorry."

His gaze was unusually heavy that Sherlock felt uncomfortable; there was something _there_, something he couldn't quite work out.

"I'm sorry for...for everything, I never meant to hurt you."

"But you did anyway." Sherlock looked down.

"Babe," Joel's soft voice was so close, Sherlock looked up to see Joel centimetres from him, "it hurts me to see you happy without me, that I'm not the one making you happy."

Sherlock couldn't speak, all he could do was just stare into Joel's sorry eyes, seeing the guilt and regret in them.

"I'm not asking you to forgive me." Joel's hand was suddenly on his hip and his skin tingled underneath the touch, "I'm asking for another chance to prove myself."

_No._ Sherlock thought immediately, his sympathy turning into anger. "Are you joking?" He scoffed, "months of abuse and you expect me to just come back?"

Joel sighed, "it's not like that."

"No. It is, and the answer is no." Sherlock pushed Joel away, "you make me sick." He walked away, feeling more than proud and a little bit disappointed that he didn't punch him again.

"I see he ain't put you in your place then." Joel called after him, "just wait, yeah?"

But Sherlock ignored him, John was different to Joel – so different. The opposite, completely different. Joel was nothing to Sherlock, just a sad excuse for a man and boyfriend.

But that didn't the stop the small yet intimidating throb in the back of his mind.

He arrived home and as soon as he got into the flat, he pulled John into a hug and breathed in the other man's scent. John was obviously confused at the action but nonetheless returned the gesture. "Everything okay?"

"I missed you." Sherlock muffled into John's jumper.

John's chuckle brought him down from his small spiral of panic. Joel's words were just circling him – a constant fear that Sherlock had never wanted to admit to himself, or had admitted but failed to think further into it. He couldn't help but think one day John would hurt him; it wasn't a surprise that he thought that way, of course not, but it wasn't just _thinking_, it was _waiting _for it to happen that tore at him.

Sherlock felt a kiss on his head and his thoughts disintegrated, almost magically disappearing at John's touch. "So did it go okay?" John asked,

Sherlock hummed in response. He didn't want to mention Joel, it wasn't important at the moment, he also didn't want to cause any more unnecessary stress for John.

"Are you going to let me go any time soon?"

"No," Sherlock squeezed John tighter.

John shook his head with a smile, "go and sit down, I'll make us a brew."

Sherlock wanted to protest but decided against it, John would probably think it was strange that Sherlock didn't want to let him go – it could scare him away or do _something _to mess this up.

No, no it's just the paranoia. It's Joel worming his way into Sherlock's head. Hopefully it would all just go away.

Hopefully.

* * *

**Okay I've decided that I want this make this fanfiction a little bit longer than planned. Before I was worried about dragging this on that it got boring, but then I thought 'fuck it, it's my fanfiction I'll do what I want!' **

**The bit with the grave was very powerful for me, it sounds stupid but I started crying halfway through writing it. I guess it's because I took my own experience of visiting my mother's grave and not having her reply, but imagining and listening to her voice in my head as I spoke to her and hearing how proud she was of me. It's a strong feeling and even if people stare at me when I sit down in front of her grave and start talking to her, I don't really care -w- It feels normal to me, anyone else have that experience? **

**Anyway, hope you enjoyed this chapter! This authors note was long, I'm sorry! **


	19. Chapter 19

The paranoia had gotten worse over 56 hours. Sherlock tried to control it, tried not to let it get in the way of his work but it was always just _there_, watching him, waiting for him like he was waiting for _it_. It felt horrific, just feeling something so dark and revolting grasp you when you're constantly wanting to push it away but you _can't_.

It wasn't just paranoia, there was the anxiety as well – they were almost like best friends, always together and waiting for Sherlock to be alone so they can strike. He breathed in sharply, staring at the mirror in front of him.

Suddenly he noticed how tired he was - how much sleep had failed to overcome him during this state of mind. This was pathetic, surely the term 'the past is the past' should be useful here, because the past is the past, why won't everything just _leave him the hell alone_?

The toilets at the Yard weren't the best place to have a mental breakdown but by far they were the most private.

_Just think of John._

Sherlock imagined John's arms around him, telling him it's going to be okay.

_He's angry at you, you've pissed him off. _

_He's sick and tired of you being dependant on him. _

_He'll walk away from you the moment he stops feeling sorry for you. _

Sherlock sighed loudly, running a hand through his hair. Those were the thoughts that constantly devoured him – the ones that chased him, ripped him to pieces. Why? _Why _was he so scared of John!? John wouldn't hurt him and he's sick of these thoughts telling him John would.

Why couldn't his mind just _shut up _and leave him alone?

"Sherlock?" Lestrade's voice called out and Sherlock turned around suddenly, startled momentarily. Lestrade gave him a questionable look before is expression turned serious, "He won't talk, we can't get anything out of him. All he's doing is denying everything you've said."

Sherlock nodded, not really listening or thinking of the crime at the moment. "I need to know why he did it."

Lestrade went to speak but- No, Sherlock didn't want him to offer his advice, it would be utterly useless to Sherlock. "It's simple enough, I can find out why, just give me time."

The detective inspector nodded slowly, "all right."

"Give me his file and then I'll question him."

"I don't-" Lestrade stopped himself, sighing and shoving his hands in his pockets.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, "you don't _what_?"

"After last time."

Sherlock flickered an angry glance at the floor, "last time was a mistake, it will not happen again." He spoke quietly.

_I should have expected that. _

Lestrade was quiet for fourteen seconds.

"Fine. All right. But one _speck_ of a liquid substance on that file and you won't hear the end of it." He said finally and Sherlock felt relief was over him; he nodded in reply and watched Lestrade leave the toilets.

_Yes!_ At least if he was busy with his work he wouldn't need to speak to John as often, meaning there was less of a chance of annoying the other man.

Sherlock left the toilets before those darkened thoughts attacked him again; he knew without John by his side that he wouldn't be able to handle them any more than he already has.

* * *

John smiled as soon as Sherlock stepped through the door, "so I was thinking we could get something nice for your mum."

Sherlock groaned and dropped a police file on the coffee table, "oh for God's sake, she's my mother, not a messiah."

He wondered why John wanted to make such an effort to be accepted by the Holmes family. They were all whiney, ridiculously posh prats with no consideration for others.

"It's a nice gesture," John pulled the scarf from Sherlock's neck, obviously ignoring the confused gaze from Sherlock. "Like this." John smiled as he pulled an extraordinarily beautiful scarf from behind his back, wrapping it around Sherlock's neck gently.

Sherlock shut his mouth after realising he'd been staring down at the scarf with it open. His hands ran over the material, feeling the soft fabric under his touch and indulging in the royal blue and navy stripes. He almost gasped when he saw the golden _'SH' _embroidered into it.

"Do you like it?" John asked, obviously nervous at the lack of speech. Sherlock looked up at him, unsure of what to say, nobody had ever...He'd never been given something so...

"Thank you," Sherlock finally found his voice, although it came out a lot more breathless than he'd hoped. Something caused him to pull John forward and kiss him. God, John made him so, so happy.

He felt John smile against his lips, "glad you like it."

"I love it," Sherlock rested his hand on the back of John's neck as their foreheads touched, "I love you."

John visibly froze and his cheeks blossomed slightly red. Sherlock wondered briefly if perhaps he'd said it too soon and if he had just mucked every up – as always – but then John breathed out and grinned, "I love you too." And Sherlock felt his mind melt from those words.

Again, he leaned in and kissed John - passionately; wanting to show John just how much he meant to Sherlock.

_'Just you wait, yeah?' _That demonic voice hissed in his ear and he pulled away from John, almost flinching when John spoke,

"You okay?"

Sherlock was safe with John and he always would be, this...mindset was nothing but a phase – a phase Joel had caused him. It would disappear soon enough, almost like withdrawal, except Sherlock didn't crave the '_drug_', he spurned it.

"Yes, I'm fine." Sherlock faked a smile but John didn't seem convinced, "This murder is so distastefully easy that it has me thinking of other possible suspects. It's quite frustrating."

"Then you best get on with it." John smiled finally, tightening the scarf around Sherlock's neck so it rested perfectly against his pale skin, "and blue is such an amazing colour on you." He smiled up at Sherlock and paused.

Sherlock was aware that John was staring into his eyes and felt oddly uncomfortable and exposed, "what?"

"Nothing, just...God, you're beautiful."

There was an answer somewhere to that, Sherlock was certain he should say 'thank you' or at least smile at the compliment, but his mind failed him and he ended up staring down at John with a mild blush covering his cheeks. John finally chuckled and looked down, "I should get ready for work."

And his warm hands were gone from Sherlock's.

* * *

**HE SAID IT**

**HE FINALLY SAID "I LOVE YOU"**

**I love that scene. **

**Next time: Sherlock isn't as well as he makes out. **


	20. Chapter 20

**By far, my longest chapter. **

**Enjoy~**

* * *

Saturday rolled around quite quickly to John, the week had gone so fast that he didn't even know the day until his eyes skimmed over the calender. He was laying in bed, just slowly waking up from a well-needed rest and then he saw that it was Saturday, gasped in realization that he was going to be meeting Sherlock's mother tomorrow and he still hadn't gotten her a gift _or _even begun to consider what he was going to wear.

_I need to make the right impression. _He felt panic bubbling through him and he turned over, pausing for a moment. The curly mess of hair was missing from the pillow beside him and so was the person it belonged to. John frowned, usually Sherlock would wait until John was awake before getting out of bed, unless maybe he'd gotten out of that habit.

John sat up and felt the space beside him, noticing that the covers actually hadn't been moved since yesterday, meaning Sherlock didn't come to bed last night. Standing up, John tried to see if there was any evidence that Sherlock had even entered the room last night, but there was none. He made his way out of the bedroom and peered into the living room, seeing it empty. "Sherlock?" He asked stepping through the door and finding the other man in the kitchen.

"Didn't you sleep?" John asked watching Sherlock tip half a glass of water down the sink. Immediately John's eyes went to the packet of tablets on the side,

"I needed to think." Sherlock replied, voice croaked. He turned back towards John and followed his vision to the tablets.

John tried to hide his thoughts, _God _did he, but everything was obviously shown on his face when Sherlock turned back to him with a somewhat hardened expression, "I had a headache."

_'you're obviously not. Do you know what happened?'_

_'I had a headache, I took some aspirin.'_

_'You took over fifteen, you overdosed on aspirin.'_

"How many did you take?" John asked cautiously,

"I took the stated dose," Sherlock's words were clipped; he picked the packet up and tossed it to John, "take a look if you don't believe me."

John caught it quickly, considering and soon fighting the urge to take a look inside. This wasn't about trust, this was about _knowing_ just how low depression can get you and that it doesn't just _go away_. Sherlock had been acting strange recently – nothing too noticeable, but John saw it; the fidgeting when Sherlock did actually come to bed, the mood swings and quick glances towards John when they would sit together in the evenings. This moment just added to the strange behaviour.

"No, I do believe you." John watched as Sherlock looked away from him, obviously hurt from the silent accusation. "I'm sorry, I just- I want to make sure you're okay."

"I'm fine." Sherlock looked back at John defensively.

"But you're not," _Those words are so used to leaving his mouth he's actually beginning to believe them._

"Don't tell me how _I _feel," Sherlock snapped. John put his hands up in defense,

"I'm not, I'm not." He spoke softly, but before he could continue, Sherlock sighed loudly,

"Don't patronize me either! I didn't overdose, I'm not _that_ unstable, I am well and truly, one-hundred percent _fine_!"

John was silent, watching Sherlock closely. What the hell had him so riled up? It could be going back to work after so long, the stress suddenly being piled on top of him again.

"I'm sorry." Sherlock said quietly after some time of silence, "It's- I just-" He rubbed at his temple, "I'm sorry."

"It's all right," John started, "you've been a bit on edge recently, I just wanted to know if there was anything...anything you wanted to talk to me about."

Sherlock looked to be contemplating something. "I saw Joel on Friday."

John blinked, "you _saw_ him. In what way?"

"We crossed paths." Sherlock gave John a confused stare, "what else do you think I meant?"

"Nothing, never-mind." John shook his head, dismissing those thoughts. "Did he do something?"

_God forbid him if he did._

"No, it just brought back some...unwanted memories." Sherlock averted his eyes. "I can't help but feel sympathetic towards him – he destroyed me because he wanted power, but I still can't enjoy watching him suffer."

John was completely understanding, he wasn't angry at Sherlock for that, well, he wasn't angry at Sherlock at all, why should he be? After loving someone and trusting someone so much, you can't just forget how you feel about them. The main question John wanted to ask was 'do you still love him?', but the words wouldn't leave his mouth.

"It's okay to feel like that," he went with instead, "but why didn't you just tell me before?"

"I didn't deem it necessary." Sherlock shrugged.

John nodded and Sherlock took a step towards him, "I didn't mean to upset you, I thought-"

"You didn't upset me," John smiled, gesturing for Sherlock to step closer, "it's all fine."

He took hold of Sherlock's hands and ran his thumb over the knuckle, "all I want you to do is sleep, because you look exhausted."

Sherlock groaned, "sleep, dull."

"Well you're going to be tired when we go into town."

"Why are we going into town?"

"To get your mum a present."

A louder groan left Sherlock's mouth and John couldn't help but chuckle, "I've got stuff to do first, so go and have a lie down on the sofa."

"Fine." Sherlock sighed and pecked John on the cheek.

* * *

_Tick_

_Tick_

_Tick_

Sherlock felt like ripping his brain out through his eye sockets, that ticking just wouldn't _stop_. He was waiting, but for what? God he didn't know, but he did know – John, he was waiting for John to do exactly as Joel said, because John would eventually push Sherlock away, why shouldn't he?

_Stop thinking that way, you know it's not true._

It is. It's the truth, face it.

_Stop it._

Pulling at his curls, Sherlock paced impatiently, soon sitting down in the chair. He was supposed to be relaxing – sleeping – while John folded clothes (dull, pointless, boring) but he couldn't, not with all of the noises flowing through his mind at full speed, like a train constantly screeching to a halt; the sound on repeat. "Distraction, distraction, distraction." He whispered to himself. _The case, solve the case._

"Ah, yes." Sherlock murmured looking over at the scattered papers on the coffee table. He picked up the papers and skimmed through them, already knowing what to expect – he knew who the murderer was, he just needed to know _how_ and _why _the young boy did it.

This was good, this was a perfect distraction; he didn't need to hear the ticking in his mind or the echo of his own thoughts.

Sherlock stood from the chair and stepped back a few times, re-enacting the crime. He raised one arm as if he was holding a knife and slowly walked forward, careful not to make any noise; this boy was silent and dangerous.

He thought of the hallway, walking down to the father's bedroom, turning left to stand in front of the bed. Then he would call the father, waiting for him to sit up. Then suddenly, he would attack, swinging the knife round and-

_SMASH!_

Sherlock froze, feeling his blood freeze along with his body. His eyes travelled down to the smashed picture frame on the floor – face down but Sherlock _knew _what was underneath the glass. He could see the picture of Sophie smiling where it once stood and he shivered.

_'Just wait, yeah?'_

The face of Joel as he stormed towards him, shoving him on to the floor, stripping him, thrusting into him even when he begged him to stop because the pain was _too much_.

"_Don't cross me, 'Lock." Joel grunted, "Shut up and just enjoy what I'm giving you."_

The deep paranoia that had been building up - the anxiety, the panic, the pinching, sickening twists and turns of his stomach smacked him at that moment.

"Sherlock, I heard a noise, are you-?" John walked out of the bedroom and Sherlock swallowed hard, readying himself for John to lose it.

* * *

John panicked when he heard the smash, he quickly stood up from folding his clothes and rushed to the living room, "Sherlock, I heard a noise, are you-?" He stopped. His eyes moved from Sherlock to the picture frame on the floor and he felt his mind go distant.

_Sophie, oh God Sophie! _He thought looking at the glass.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry." Sherlock whispered, breathless. John didn't quite hear him though; he darted over to the broken picture frame, kneeling down and turning it over to slip the picture of Sophie out. He could feel something clawing at his heart, it was telling him fix this, but how? He didn't know how!

John stood up and immediately he saw Sherlock violently recoil from him, putting his arms up in defence – like a shield. "I'm sorry, I wasn't supposed to- I'm sorry." Sherlock's voice held a completely different emotion, something heavy with guilt and...And _fear_. John went to touch his arm but Sherlock flinched, his eyes downcast.

"I'm not going to- Sherlock, I would never..." John felt himself break into a thousand pieces. He closed his eyes, "come here." He whispered, gently taking Sherlock's hands and guiding him into an embrace. John could feel Sherlock relax into his body,

"I'm sorry," Sherlock said again, his head buried into John's neck. John shook his head,

"Don't be, I'm not going to hurt you." John whispered again, stroking a hand through Sherlock's hair. It dawned on him that he wasn't able to protect Sherlock from everything, the dark thoughts or the paranoia; it could take years for Sherlock to realize that violence was his past and not present; even if he said he was fine, he wasn't. "I would never hurt you."

There was no reply, no indication that Sherlock even heard him, but that was fine, John would tell Sherlock that everyday if he had to; John would do anything for Sherlock.

* * *

They had stayed standing for ten minutes until John decided to move the both of them over to the sofa, where he had sat with Sherlock for hours, just slowly stroking through the curly hair on his lap; Sherlock had (hopefully) fallen asleep, his head resting on John's lap, one hand linked with John's free hand.

John sat there the entire time just watching the rise and fall of Sherlock's chest, deep in thought. He almost shuddered at the memory of how badly Sherlock had recoiled from him – the _actual _fear that John had seen made him realise that this problem was not going to go away on it's own.

Yes, John had been over this time and time again, knowing that Sherlock wouldn't heal entirely for a long time, but seeing someone you care so much about practically sob apologies at you for something that wasn't their fault really struck him.

It stung as if a wasp had been trapped inside his chest. It _hurt_.

The thoughts of how bad the abuse was haunted John, knowing the only good thing he could do was just hold Sherlock and tell him it would be okay, because John would damn well make sure everything is okay at every cost. Even if that meant getting Sherlock other help – professional help.

John was a doctor, he knew things and yet he couldn't even tell his wife had cancer; no chance he was making the same mistake with Sherlock. Of course a terminal illness is rather different from trauma, but they're along the same consistency.

Sherlock had faced his demons the day he walloped Joel but that doesn't mean they're gone forever. _Of course not! How could have ever thought they were! _John's mind screamed at him; he felt a chuckle bubbling in his throat. _I couldn't see that my wife had cancer and I still couldn't see that Sherlock was suffering. _He looked over Sherlock's features, surveyed the way his hair just about covered his eyes as he slept, how his fingers linked loosely with John's, _needing _that stability.

John stroked a thumb over that pale cheek, sighing quietly to himself. _I should be the one that's sorry. _He clenched his jaw, _How can I make this right again? How can I help you?_

A name popped into John's head: _Detective Inspector Lestrade._

Lestrade could help a lot; he could definitely help a lot. John assumed that this...incident was triggered by Joel.

_'It just brought back some unwanted memories.'_

Obviously Joel wasn't going to let bygones be bygones, the tiny brain inside his head possibly couldn't understand the actual disgusting nature of what he did. It wasn't clear what Joel had said but it was clear that it wasn't anything _good_.

Lestrade could help by putting Joel away, even if it was for a few years rather than forever, – which John thought was the fair amount of time to be served – John would just need to tell him about the abuse and give evidence, which would be the recorded injuries and suicide attempt. It would, however, be difficult getting Sherlock to go along with it, and John saw that he _really _didn't need to be reminded about it all, so John would try and deal with this on his own. Mycroft may be able to help also, perhaps Sherlock's mum too, depending on how she takes to John.

The ticking of the clock was suddenly loud in the room and John blinked, coming out of his thoughts. His eyes scanned the clock; _2pm_, neither too late nor early to have a pint with a 'mate'. _Wait,_ John looked back down at the sleeping detective, _I can't even think about leaving him on his own._

"Stop thinking so hard, you'll strain yourself." Sherlock spoke up and John jumped out of fright, not knowing how long the other had been awake for.

His thoughts disappeared when those beautiful eyes looked up at him, a few strands of hair laying across the pale forehead. John smiled, brushing the hair from his forehead and stroking a hand through the brown curls. "Could you hear the clogs turning?"

"Yes, and I heard a few bolts come loose too."

John gasped, "I beg your pardon."

Sherlock chuckled, looking down at both their hands that were still linked. He pulled John's hand to his lips and kissed it, "what were you thinking about?"

"Just things, like work." John lied, lifting Sherlock's hand and mimicking the kiss.

Sherlock yawned, "dull."

"Excruciatingly dull," John chuckled. "Anyway, a two hour kip doesn't quite make up for missing out an entire night's rest."

Sherlock smiled briefly but then stared up at the ceiling in silence. John could sense that he wanted to talk so he waited, knowing it would probably be an apology for earlier.

"I'm sorry, for-"

"Don't be sorry." John interrupted, maybe a little quicker than he hoped, "I'm not angry at you, well, I'm not angry at all. I just, I want you to know that I will _never, ever_ hurt you."

"I trust you, I know you wouldn't, but something- _something _made me so...so paranoid, so scared that I would- I would anger you, that you would leave – get sick of my stupid dependency."

Sherlock looked desperate, as if waiting for an explanation on his own feelings, which John couldn't give because John didn't even know how he felt, let alone how Sherlock felt. For the first time in a _very _long time, John was at loss for words.

He saw that Sherlock was clingy, and even if that would be considered bad, John liked the feeling of constantly being cared about. It sounded big-headed and selfish, almost very unlike John – it was probably one of his dark thoughts that he never shared with anyone.

John liked the way he was pulled into a hug or a kiss at random points in time, he savoured the hand holding and 'snuggling', he loved every part of Sherlock and as he said to him in the hospital, _God forbid anything that takes you away from me._

"I love you, and I mean those words. I love you." John said finally, "even if you do turn into the grumpiest of gits at times, hell, even if you push me out of a window or throw my all of my clothes into a fire, I would _never _hurt you, never leave you and honest to God, I would still love you."

By now, Sherlock was looking back at him; blue eyes staring into him before a smile tugged at his lips. "You always know what to say."

"One of my main qualities." John replied with a smile.

"I love you," Sherlock whispered, pulling John down for a kiss. "And you, John Watson, are one of the most magnificent men I have ever known."

John almost blushed, "Who are the others?"

"Me."

John laughed at that, and seeing Sherlock laugh too made him feel just that little less broken inside. This man had come into his life and brightened it when John had been in the darkest of places for so long.

Sherlock sat up and ruffled his hair, yawning again.

"I think you should probably catch a few more hours." John glanced at his phone on the coffee table, planning out his meeting with Lestrade. If Sherlock slept, John could sneak out for a few hours and not have to worry about him, knowing he would most likely still be asleep when John got back.

"I suppose," Sherlock stood up and paused, turning back to John with an unsure expression, "can you...can you lay with me until I'm asleep?"

"'Course," John smiled, finding it 'cute' how unsure Sherlock looked. "Go get changed and I'll be in in a minute."

Sherlock pecked John on the cheek, "thank you." Before heading to the bedroom.

John reached for his phone, quickly typing out a text message. Him and Lestrade had gotten close recently, not enough to be called friends, maybe acquaintances, but not friends. Almost immediately, he received a reply,

* * *

_I'm knee deep in paperwork, sorry._

_Greg._

* * *

John pursed his lips, thinking for a few moments before standing from his seat and typing out another message.

* * *

_I was hoping to speak to you about something a bit personal. I'll buy the rounds?_

_JW._

* * *

_All right, you've won me over. Fox and the Hound, 3pm?_

_Greg._

* * *

John replied with a word of thanks and chucked his phone onto the sofa. Glancing at the clock as he walked by, he reckoned he had plenty of time to sneak out. If Sherlock did wake up before he got back, he could use the excuse that he was shopping for a present for Sherlock's mum.

Sherlock was already in bed when John walked in; he was staring up at the ceiling, obviously in thought, but his eyes travelled to John when the mattress dipped in.

"It's Saturday." Sherlock said with mild confusion in his voice.

"Yes, and tomorrow is Sunday." John smirked when Sherlock rolled his eyes,

"Obviously," He replied, "we're visiting my Mother tomorrow."

"Oh," John ran his hand over the quilt, "if you don't want to go, we can-"

"I know how much this means to you, so no." Sherlock said firmly but soon smiled, "Even if she is the spawn of Satan."

John chuckled, "I'm sure it'll be fine."

Sherlock hummed in response, slipping his hand into John's before closing his eyes.

John almost fell asleep beside Sherlock, something about watching his lover sleep made him so relaxed and comfortable. Looking at his watch, he realised that he'd been laying there longer than he thought and he really needed to head off.

Sherlock's hand was slack in his own, so the other was obviously asleep. However, he was a light sleeper and John could easily wake him up by dropping a pin. Quietly and extremely careful not to disturb Sherlock, John slipped his own hand from Sherlock's and stood from the bed, flinching when he knocked his leg against the nightstand.

Luckily Sherlock didn't even move a muscle, so John quickly chucked on his shoes, grabbed his coat and left.

* * *

**Gasp, what's John going to do? .o.**

* * *

**Just a little note to say that all of my works are going on a hiatus, mainly because I'm having a bit of a bad month, so I don't know when I'll next update. **

**Sorry. **


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